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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



FIRESIDE PAPERS 



BY 
FREDERIC ROWLAND MARVIN 



I have sought repose everywhere, and have found 
it only in a little corner with a little book. 

— St. Francis de Sales. 

"When evening has arrived I return home and go 
into my study. I pass into the antique courts of 
ancient men, where, welcomed lovingly by them, I 
feed upon the food which is my own, and for 
which I was born. For hours together the mis- 
eries of life no longer annoy me; I forget every 
vexation; I do not fear poverty; for I have alto- 
gether transferred myself to those with whom I 
hold converse. 

— Machiavelli. 




BOSTON 

SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 

1915 



f<b^ 1 ' 



tf 



Copyright, 1915 
Sherman, French & Company 

- f c 



DEC 17 1915 

©CI. A 4 16 937 
4fc* / . 



These pages are dedicated with tender love 
and great gladness of heart to my dear wife 

PEBSIS 

When gaily o'er the fields she tripped, 
The flowers they burst aflame; 

My heart, that was a worthless weed, 
A crimson rose became. 







Pray thee, take care, that thou tak'st my book in 

hand 
To read it well, that is to understand. 

— Ben Jonson. 



PREFACE 

Books are a perpetual friendship. The li- 
brary wherein they are stored is not only a de- 
pository of literary treasures, but also the meet- 
ing place of kindred minds. The man who is at 
home in my library is something more than a 
transient guest — he is my friend. If my books 
delight him, we have much in common. My 
neighbor I respect as a good man. He enters 
my home, and I enter his. We are interested 
in each other's welfare, and would do much to 
further good-will between us. But the com- 
panion who makes with me a willing escape from 
that world of which Wordsworth warns us, and 
which he tells us " is too much with us," is 
surely my friend. When I shut the door and 
go apart by myself, my friend is not wholly ex- 
cluded. " Getting and spending," which " lay 
waste our powers," are for the time put aside. 
I leave behind me the troubles and vexations of 
life, I thrust from me the little fears that de- 
stroy peace of mind, and I pass with glad heart 
into Machiavelli's " antique courts of ancient men, 
where, welcomed lovingly by them, I feed upon 
the food which is my own, and for which I was 
born." The man of books finds his happiest 
hours in his library. There he is at home as he 
is at home nowhere else. 



PREFACE 

When one is sick at heart, and all that is beau- 
tiful has faded from one's life in dull drab ; when 
radiant hopes have suffered sad eclipse, and the 
days seem to hold little of worth; when trouble 
and disappointment gather in dark clouds around 
one, and the very air seems lonely and charged 
with death; when all the springs of comfort and 
strength are dry, — then it is that the lover of 
books turns to them for the companionship that 
he is sure he can find nowhere else. Blessed, 
thrice blessed, is the man who in seasons of trou- 
ble and disaster can forget himself and his own 
little field of misfortune in the larger world of 
literature. In that bright wonder-world there is 
medicine for the soul, friendship, pleasure, and 
new strength for achievement and duty. 

These " Fireside Papers " are all the flying 
years have left me of many happy hours. In 
them linger the thoughts, hopes, and remem- 
brances of evenings gladdened by the sweet fel- 
lowship of friends that age not with the failing 
strength of those who have loved them and who 
will always love them. The ancients called all 
good books a " Treasury of Remedies for the 
Mind," but they are more than that, for in 
them gather what is best in every age and land. 
The philosophers, poets, and teachers of all time 
are with us still. When they were on earth, as 
we are at the present moment, they were called 
living men and women ; and now that we see them 
no more with the natural eye, we think of them as 
dead. Nevertheless they are not dead, but live 



PREFACE 

and breathe and have their being in many books 
of priceless value. Were Homer materially pres- 
ent in the world, but few could enjoy his society. 
I could not hope to entertain by my fireside one 
upon whose companionship the entire literary 
world would make such great demands. But all 
that would make the Greek poet so enthusiastic- 
ally sought were he dwelling now in any of our 
cities, he has left with us in those marvelous 
poems that all men may read. The glorious 
genius that exalted Homer and Shakespeare 
above other men may find a ready place by my 
fireside. I know those two immortal poets far 
better than the people of their own times knew 
them. My firelight may fall brightly upon the 
upturned face of the " thousand-souled " poet of 
old England, as fell the light of long age upon 
his noble features. Whatever is best in ages and 
lands is mine, and over them all I write with 
grateful heart, " Mash Allah "— the Gift of 
God. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

I THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS . 1 

II PHILOSOPHERS AND PATRIOT- 
ISM 31 

III THE PHILOSOPHIC TEMPER . 47 

IV MAUPASSANT AND POE ... 67 

V HUMAN DERELICTS .... 77 

VI MINOR POETS 123 

VII THE RECENT DISCOVERY OF A 

POEM BY SAPPHO .... 175 

VIII DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 191 

IX ROMANCE AND SYMBOLISM OF 

ANIMAL LIFE 231 

X THE RIVER OF OBLIVION ... 327 



THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS 

^tO<f>6<S 6 1T0\- 

\a eiScos <f>va' 
fiaOovres Se, \df3poi 
7rayy\a)crcrla, KopaKes ws, 
aKpavra yapvepbev, 
8lo<s 7rpos SpVLxa Odov. 

— Pindar. 

The light of genius is sometimes only the light of 
a falling star. 

— Maudsley. 

So lonely 'twas that God himself 
Scarce seemed there to be. 

— Coleridge. 



THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS 

IT is commonly believed that men of genius 
are sad. It is true that there would be no 
great difficulty in naming a number of men dis- 
tinguished in professional circles, and endowed 
with rare intellectual gifts, who have known 
much of the brighter side of life; and yet it is 
nevertheless a fact that those who possess what 
we call creative ability, which is the ability pe- 
culiar to poet, musician, and artist, are, for all 
in all, men of depressed spirit who inhabit a twi- 
light-world and live amid its shadows. Their 
depression is partly due to a peculiar cast of 
mind and partly to a certain acuteness of per- 
ception which in some measure all the sons of 
genius possess. They see much of the distress 
of mind and physical hardship incident to man's 
life on earth, while those who have less penetra- 
tion not only do not see, but do not even know 
of many of the more sorrowful experiences of 
our race. It is both the fortune and misfortune 
of men of genius that they see below the surface 
of things. The German Welt-Schmerz, with 
which the common man troubles himself little, lies 
open to the finer vision of the man of genius. 
He perceives the vastness of the terrible problem 
involved in human sorrow, distress, and wrong- 
doing, and he appreciates the extent of the evil 
which it entails. And the sensitiveness of his 
nature, which reinforces the acuteness of his per- 



2 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

ception, makes the world-sorrow to be for him 
in truth Selbst-ScJwierz. 

Still further, the man of genius is aware of the 
significance of sorrow. He sees in sorrow what 
others fail of discerning, — the ceaseless tragedy 
of man's life on earth. It is the sight of this 
that sunders him from his kind. His is the lone- 
liness of an experience all his own. He shares it 
with so few that the isolation often seems well- 
nigh complete. Into the gayeties that so delight 
the thoughtless multitude he finds himself unable 
to enter, for his vision penetrates to the waiting 
sorrow beneath. 

Nature is very much what we make it. The 
green hills and fertile valleys, ocean, forest, and 
prairie, these are, all of them, in themselves, 
apart from man's creative vision, nothing more 
than natural variations or irregularities in the 
surface of the earth. Only in so far as we view 
these things through the eye of the mind are 
they anything more than physical peculiarities 
devoid of wonder and charm. The desert may 
mean suffering and death to one who, deprived 
of water, is perishing upon its level floor of glass- 
like sand beneath the insufferable heat of a burn- 
ing sky. But let the poet's eye, or the eye of 
the artist, relieved of all distress, rest upon those 
arid wastes, and they are at once transformed. 
The appalling expanse, trackless and lifeless, 
takes on marvelous beauty. Nature is what we 
make it to be. The commonplace, unimagina- 
tive man lives in one world, while the artist and 



THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS 3 

poet live in another and different world. Man 
is the creator of his own visible universe. To all 
intents and purposes there would be no universe 
were there no intelligent beings to view it. 

To the eye of genius all things are fluid. 
" Solidity," wrote a New England author, " is an 
illusion of the senses. To faith, nothing is solid ; 
the nature of the soul renders such fact impossi- 
ble." Fab re d'Olivet held that the outward uni- 
verse was wholly dependent upon the individual 
mind, and that our world would be as it should 
be were men only as good as they should be. 
He even held himself personally responsible for 
the obliquity of the axis of the earth. He was 
sure that if he could only attain to the right 
spiritual state, he should be able to look on out- 
ward nature and say : " I snow, I rain." With- 
out indorsing extreme idealism, we may say that 
the universe is to us what it appears to be. 
What it is in itself, apart from our observation 
and experience, we can never know. It stands re- 
lated to us and is a part of us as we are a part 
of it. George Herbert was a poet and not a 
philosopher, but he knew of this close connection 
of man with his environment when he wrote: 

" Man is all symmetric, 
Full of proportions, one limbe to another, 

And all to all the world besides; 

Each part may call the farthest, brother; 
For head with foot hath private amitie, 

And both with moons and tides. 



4 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

" Nothing hath got so farre 
But Man hath caught and kept it as his prey. 

His eyes dismount the highest starre; 

He is in little all the sphere. 
Herbs gladly cure our flesh, because that they 

Find their acquaintance there. 

" For us the windes do blow; 
The earth doth rest, heav'n move, and foun- 
tains flow. 

Nothing we see, but means our good. 

As our delight, or as our treasure; 
The whole is either our cupboard of food, 

Or cabinet of pleasure." 

The good man sees around him a world of di- 
vine beauty ; he sees as well a world of opportu- 
nity, and he feels within him a desire to improve 
still more the world as it presents itself to his 
mind. The evil man beholds a world full of base 
and worthless things that please his evil mind, 
and he proceeds at once to make it still worse. 
The loneliness of the desert is a poetical concep- 
tion formed in the human mind. The traveler, 
standing on the edge of the Libyan waste, is 
overcome by the sense of solitude; but the Arab 
pitches his tent far out in the rainless region, 
and lies down at night beneath the silent stars 
with no thought of discomfort. The two men 
inhabit different worlds and each has created for 
himself the world in which he lives. 

Algot Lange, who was lost in the interminable 
forests that surround the headwaters of the 



THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS 5 

Amazon, told me how, having seen his little party- 
die, one after another, from fever and snake-bite, 
until he was left alone in the vast jungle, he came 
face to face with a horror that neither language 
nor art can depict. It was the opening of his 
eyes to the terror of his situation. He was not 
overcome by the fear of death, for neither he nor 
his men were afraid of death at any time during 
the journey. It was not privation, for they were 
inured to that. It was an absolutely unique ex- 
perience that came with a vision of the loneliness 
of his situation. A sudden internal experience 
changed for him in a few moments the entire ap- 
pearance of so much of the world as at that time 
concerned him. But the South American In- 
dians inhabiting that part of the continent saw 
nothing in the landscape to terrify or distress 
them. Geographically they were not far away, 
but though only a dozen miles, it may be, sepa- 
rated them from Lange, they and the explorer 
were, nevertheless, dwelling in entirely different 
worlds. 

But the desolations of nature are not greater 
than those of the human mind. They do not so 
effectually separate a man from his fellows, 
neither do they have within them that sense of 
mystery which adds loneliness and apprehension 
to the problems presented. Our dread of the un- 
iseen world is only a dread of mystery, as is also 
the child's fear of the dark. A man once said 
that he would be more terrified by the presence of 
the disembodied spirit of his dearest friend than 



6 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

by the presence of his most implacable foe in the 
flesh. Our Saviour, after his resurrection, ap- 
peared to the disciples. Instead of receiving him 
with gladness of heart, they were alarmed. They 
loved him as devoutly as ever, but they were 
afraid of the dead. It is largely the mystery 
in death that gives to the last hour its power 
to alarm the human mind. When our Saviour 
had overcome that sense of mystery by eating in 
their presence, the disciples recovered their self- 
possession and calmness of mind. Death and all 
supreme hours are lonely. Before them we stand 
with bowed head and in reverent silence. 

But the loneliness of genius is unlike all other 
kinds of loneliness. It is a loneliness centering 
in the man himself. Wherever he goes there goes 
with him a sense of separation. This isolation 
has been called " the loneliness of the laurelled," 
but that is a description that does not describe. 
Some of the most gifted of mankind have had 
little to do with laurel. The world did not ap- 
preciate them. No doubt there are to-day men 
of genius and learning who fail of obtaining 
recognition. Some are crushed beneath the 
weight of their own poverty ; some are driven by 
their timidity and modesty into an undeserved 
obscurity; some are made the butt of ridicule 
because they refuse to pander to the rude vul- 
garity of the crowd. " Mute inglorious Mil- 
tons " there are in every land and age. These 
go all unlaurelled to forgotten graves. It is a 
coarse world we live in. To contend successfully 



THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS 7 

with it one must have the hide of a rhinoceros. 

Galileo was certainly one of the greatest of 
men, but his own age despised him. He died in 
1642, with little or no recognition. What 
thoughts rise in the mind of the pilgrim as he 
stands in the Torre del Gallo where the philoso- 
pher studied! It was there Milton visited him 
in 1638, and it was in that observatory he made 
some of his most valuable discoveries. With 
a very poor telescope of his own construction 
he discovered four satellites* of Jupiter, the 
phases of Venus, the starry nature of the Milky 
Way, the hills and valleys of the moon, and the 
spots on the solar disk from the motion of which 
he inferred the rotation of the sun. Twice he 
was persecuted by the Inquisition because of the 
support he gave the Copernican system. To 
his other discoveries he added that of the gravity 
of the air. Surely he was a very great man, but 
he was not among the " laurelled." There were 
in Italy ignorant ecclesiastics who basked in 
popular praise and favor while he was viewed 
with aversion because of his great discoveries. 

It has always been the ill fortune of men not 
in close sympathy with their age to endure its 
opposition. There are now idle women of wealth 
who do nothing all day but count their diamonds 
and gaze through latticed windows upon the toil- 
ing crowds that hurry by on their way to places 
of useful labor. Upon the busy crowds they look 
with condescension or, it may be, with open con- 
tempt. Yet in the street below are the makers of 



8 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

much of our true wealth and real glory. The 
world could spare the " four hundred " and be 
none the worse for so trifling a loss; but it can 
ill afford to lose the sons of genius who, it may 
be all unnoticed, are laying the enduring founda- 
tions of true greatness. 

Mediocrity will never suffer for want of com- 
pany, but the men and women of commanding 
ability are few. And they must remain alone be- 
cause genius in a measure excludes those who 
possess that treasure from the larger but com- 
monplace intimacies of the world. And, in fact, 
they are not so dependent upon the society of 
ordinary men and women as is the average man. 
They do not feel so keenly the need of companion- 
ship, for they find society in their work, and as 
well in those dreams and visions which they ever 
strive to realize in actual life. How much com- 
panionship did Erasmus have in his day? He 
had a friend in Ammonius and in the few scholars 
living at that time in remote lands, with whom 
he corresponded. His way was for the most 
part a lonely one, and yet the isolation did not 
distress him because of the large intellectual re- 
sources at his command. Like Michael Angelo, 
he could say, " I have need of but few friends." 
His solitude was not desolation. 

It is not long ago that eccentricity was sup- 
posed to be a distinctive mark of genius. Dry- 
den was so sure of the soundness of Seneca's dic- 
tum, " There is no great genius without a tinc- 
ture of madness," that he paraphrased it and so 



THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS 9 

gave it a wonderful currency. Lombroso is of 
the same mind, for he holds in his book, " The 
Man of Genius," that well nigh all the great 
poets, musicians, artists, and men of exceptional 
ability are, if not stark mad, at least in the bor- 
derland of derangement and in imminent peril of a 
writ de lunatico inquirendo. 

If the reader insists upon inquiring into the 
nature of genius, I must confess in all frankness 
that I do not know how to define that mysterious 
and scintillant word. It has been insisted upon 
by more than one author that it stands for 
nothing beyond " an infinite capacity for taking 
pains." But no such meaning can be attached to 
the word. Putting aside all objection to the mis- 
use of the expression " infinite," which cannot be 
applied to anything human, it may be said that 
the description is too commonplace, too dull and 
" humdrum," for a word, and much more for a 
thing, the entire force and significance of which 
are in the direction of the exceptional. Think of 
describing the genius of Shakespeare as a " ca- 
pacity for taking pains." Is it to pains or effort 
only that we owe the charm and beauty, the 
wealth of wisdom, the wit and eloquence, of 
" Hamlet," " The Merchant of Venice," " Julius 
Caesar," and all the rest of those marvelous plays 
that make their author's name immortal? Then 
indeed is genius a thing so cheap that no one 
need despair of possessing it. One has only to 
persist and it is his. 

The " capacity for taking pains " is by no 



10 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

means a difficult thing. Marshall Field, who at 
the time of his death had the largest wholesale 
and retail dry-goods business in the world, was 
a man of immense persistency. He may have 
taken more pains with his business than Shake- 
speare ever thought of taking with any or all of 
his deathless dramas. I doubt not he possessed 
a more resolute purpose, and brought to bear 
upon his enterprise a more tireless energy than 
the greatest of writers ever dreamed of. If the 
comparison be wholly in the field of letters, shall 
we say that the " capacity for taking pains " 
was greater in Shakespeare than in many of his 
fellow writers, who, with better opportunity, for 
want of that something we call genius, failed 
where he succeeded? No, genius is vastly more 
than the " capacity for taking pains." 

Yet Disraeli believed in the patience-theory. 
He said as much in his " Contarini Fleming." 
No doubt patience is worth much to the man of 
genius, as it is to all who would play their part 
well in whatever circle their labor and duty may 
lie ; but it is not even the thing Disraeli calls it, — 
" a necessary ingredient of genius." There have 
been those who wrote their names in large charac- 
ters upon the roll of fame and were yet neither 
patient nor strong of will. Genius is a thing in 
itself, a peculiar thing, and the possession of but 
few of the sons and daughters of our race. We 
are born with it if we have it at all. 

Lowell, in his essay on Rousseau, distinguishes 
between talent and genius. The former, he tells 



THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS 11 

us, is " that which is in a man's power," while 
the latter is " that in the power of which a man 
is." Genius, according to Lowell, is of the na- 
ture of inspiration, and, at the same time it is 
the normal faculty or endowment of certain 
minds — normal, because in the course of nature. 
Inspiration, which it resembles, is a thing from 
without; it is a direct and special endowment of 
God. Lowell helps us, but he leaves us as far 
away from a precise definition as we were at the 
beginning of our paper. 

No man can be a great poet or a great artist 
without some measure of genius. It is the fac- 
ulty, or capacity, or whatever you choose to call 
it, that gives objective reality to those subjec- 
tive and illusory dreams that come only to pecul- 
iar minds. While leaving the man free, it still 
exerts a certain compulsion of which he is not 
aware so long as he yields to its requirements, 
but of which he is sometimes painfully aware 
when he refuses to comply with its demands. It 
may be that the poet knew something of its na- 
ture when he wrote, 

" I do but sing because I must, 
And pipe but as the linnets sing." 

There you have compulsion in perfect freedom. 
One who sings as the birds sing does so both be- 
cause he would and because he must. " Poetry," 
wrote John Wesley, " is a gift of nature." Nat- 
ural gifts are of all gifts those that most demand 
expression. What we acquire we may put aside, 



12 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

but what we are we must remain. Without in 
any way approving the use of opium save as a 
medicine, I yet believe that some idea of the na- 
ture of genius may be obtained for certain minds 
by small doses of the drug. The revelation is 
brief, and the punishment, in most cases, severe, 
for a slavery quite unlike the wholesome compul- 
sion of genius is easily entailed. Yet the disclo- 
sure is, while it lasts, interesting if nothing more. 
It awakens the dream as a subjective experience, 
but it, in most cases, does nothing more. It 
gives the dream no expression. Very few things 
of any real worth have been written, and perhaps 
no work of art has been executed, under the in- 
fluence of any drug in any form. I know it has 
been said that we owe " Christabel " and " The 
Ancient Mariner " to the unfortunate use their 
author made of the juice of the white poppy. I 
do not believe it. The poems named are, to my 
thinking, fragments of what might have been 
written by Coleridge had he dallied less with the 
drug that enslaved his will and impeded the nat- 
ural working of his mind. It must be remem- 
bered that Coleridge was a man of genius in and 
of himself, and apart from all external adjuvants. 
His writings are mostly fragmentary and of very 
unequal value, all of which inequality was in 
large measure, I believe, due to his confirmed 
opium habit. He was " a magnificent dreamer." 
Wordsworth wrote, " He was the only wonderful 
man I ever knew." Yet it has been said : " All 
that he did excellently might be bound up in 



THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS 13 

twenty pages, but it should be bound in pure 
gold." Well, that would depend somewhat upon 
the size of the pages. They would indeed have 
to be very large to cover all that Coleridge " did 
excellently " in both prose and verse, but larger 
still would they be had he trusted his genius more 
and his drug less. 

De Quincey also was a man of genius whose 
output would have been larger and better had his 
indulgence in opium been restrained. The faint 
vision of what genius may be in itself, subjec- 
tively, is not worth the cost. If one has the de- 
sire to follow this subject further, but from an 
entirely different point of view, it may not be 
wholly a waste of time to read a little pamphlet 
called " The Anaesthetic Revelation and the Gist 
of Philosophy" by Benjamin Paul Blood, pri- 
vately printed at Amsterdam, New York. From 
most of Blood's conclusions we wholly dissent, 
but none the less are we interested in his novel 
views and still more novel results. 

Chopin was a man of rare fineness of temper 
and great delicacy of feeling, a man of remark- 
able genius, a musician of enduring fame. But 
one does not have to read far into the story of his 
life to discover how sad was his spirit. His was 
a sadness that distressed not himself alone, but 
others as well, for his kindness was such that 
others could not but sympathize with him. He 
was a man of fine courtesy and delicate percep- 
tion. Music, of which he was one of the great 
masters, was the supreme outlet through which 



14 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

he gave graceful expression to his sadness. He 
has been called a tone-poet, so poetical were his 
musical compositions. They are as fresh and de- 
lightful to-day as they were when first given to 
an astonished world. They will always possess 
indescribable charm. 

Beethoven was another great musician, a man 
of supreme genius. No doubt the unjust sever- 
ity of the critical attacks to which he was sub- 
jected in the early part of his career had much to 
do with the gloom that settled down upon his 
spirit and colored many of his productions. He 
said : " I was nigh taking, my life with my own 
hands. But Art held me back. I could not 
leave the world until I had revealed what lay 
within me." Of him Mr. Alger said : " He was 
poor, deaf, solitary, restless, proud, and sad; 
sometimes almost cursing his existence, sometimes 
ineffably glad and grateful; subject now to the 
softest yearnings of melancholy and sympathy, 
now to tempestuous outbreaks of wrath and woe. 
Shut up in himself, he lived alone, rambled alone, 
created alone." His last words were, some say, 
"I go to meet death with joy. Farewell, and 
do not quite forget me after I am dead." Others 
give his last words thus : " I shall hear in 
heaven." 

How tender and gracious was the spirit of the 
saint and mystic, Eugenie de Guerin, whose post- 
humous letters and journal revealed to the world 
one of the most beautiful of characters. For 



THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS 15 

the few days of gladness that brightened her 
gifted life she was profoundly grateful. " God 
be praised," she said upon one occasion, " for 
this day spent without sadness. Such are so 
rare in my life. A word, a memory, a tone of 
voice, a sad expression of face, a nameless noth- 
ing, will disturb the serenity of my spirit — 
small sky that the lightest clouds can tarnish." 

The literary history of Petrarch is too well 
known to call for comment. If some of his lines 
seem effeminate and his praise of Laura exagger- 
ated, especially in view of the fact that no love 
on his part could be honorably returned by her, it 
should be remembered that his melancholy was 
at times dangerously near self-destruction. His 
genius was of a melancholy cast and darkened all 
his life. Much of his literary work, in which 
we find so great a satisfaction, gave him no pleas- 
ure whatever, but rather added to his distress. 

Dante was a man of austere habit and severe 
manners. He was a man of strong will, and, 
though one of the greatest of poets, he was nev- 
ertheless a fearless defender of what he believed 
to be right. He was of heroic build. His mar- 
riage was not a happy one. Had Gemma Donati 
been all she should have been, it was still not 
in him to make such a husband as a woman 
would be likely to desire. Had Beatrice been his 
wife, things would, no doubt, have been even 
worse. Stern, sad, and lonely, with determined 
purpose, and a genius towering above, not his 



16 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

own age alone, but other ages as well, he walked 
the earth in a solitude upon which no companion- 
ship could have made any impression. It is re- 
corded of him that one wild and stormy night he 
came to Corvo, where he was blessed by one of 
the friars, who, not knowing who he was, asked 
what he sought. Upon a quiet night, very unlike 
the one that brought our poet to the ancient mon- 
astery, I wrote in my library, just before retiring, 
the following lines in which the question asked 
by the friar is answered as Dante is said to have 
answered it: 

DANTE AT CORVO 

His hand the Benedictine laid 

Upon the brow of him 
Who craved alone the gift of peace, 

With weary mind and limb. 

And, as beneath sweet Corvo's shade 

The stranger sank to rest, 
The droning friars guessed not who 

Preferred that strange request. 

'Twas not within their power to give 
The boom he fondly sought, — 

Peace, gentle peace, where grief 
Her bitter work had wrought. 

War he had waged till every nerve 

Within him burned like fire; 
They knew not Heaven and Hell had joined, 

That stranger to inspire; 



THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS 17 

Nor that the world should long revere, 

Beyond all sense of wrong, 
In him the master of immortal verse, 

The pride of Tuscan song; 

That he should live, divinely clear, 

Serene, and strong, and brave, 
When their poor songs, to memory lost, 

Sleep with them in the grave. 

Ah, little dreamed they that brief night 

Of fame that should abide, 
That 'neath their sacred roof-tree slept 

Their country's hope and pride. 

They only thought a stranger craved 

What they could not bestow, 
Peace, — that sweet gift a whole world seeks, 

And few may ever know. 

Great master of immortal song, 

Whose dust Ravenna holds, 
Death brought thee what she hath for all, — 

The peace that Life withholds. 

Life must always be lonely to one who thinks. 
Thinking is a process of separation. It sunders 
man from man, and gives to the mind a separate 
life and an aim different from that which controls 
the surrounding world. It is surprising how 
large a part of our common existence is carried 
on with little thought, and how much of that lit- 
tle thought is automatic, subconscious, and hap- 
hazard. I do not know how much of the depres- 



18 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

sion that enters so surely into the mind of the 
man who thinks apart from the conventional be- 
liefs and opinions of his fellows, is due to the 
isolation that must in the very nature of the case 
follow ; but certain it is that men who blaze new 
trails must learn to draw their strength from 
within and not from without. Social habits and 
commonplace opinions provide an easier road for 
the ordinary traveler, and there can be no good 
reason why he should not remain in that road to 
the end of his days, in association with agreeable 
companions. But there will always remain those 
who find other roads more to their liking; those 
who are willing to forego fellowship and joint 
interests of every kind if only they may come 
upon unfrequented ways and break into undiscov- 
ered worlds. To such travelers the commonplace 
route, though safer and less difficult, is dull and 
unattractive. The highway is well graded and 
leads straight ahead, with few turns to right or 
left ; but one must take chances in strange paths 
and in districts wherein there are no paths at all. 
In lonely roads there are lonely experiences, and 
such experiences are never far removed from the 
sadness that surrounds us all, whether we know it 
or not. The more isolated the way, the more 
intrusive and persistent the sadness. A mourn- 
ful spirit breathes through all human experi- 
ences, of whatever kind. One does not have to 
turn to the pages of Schopenhauer if he would 
learn how vast is the loneliness of our human 



THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS 19 

life. One has but to think, and at once the pro- 
cess of disillusionment commences. 

I have in my home a little bird that hops all 
the long day from perch to perch in its wire cage. 
It appears happy in the degree possible to its 
animal existence. To open the door of the cage 
and give that creature freedom would be to kill it. 
And yet nevertheless the unvarying monotony of 
its dull life, in which one day is as another, can 
produce in me only a sense of melancholy. Is 
not the man who commiserates the narrow and 
restricted life of the bird himself very like that 
little bundle of yellow feathers ? How limited is 
the sympathy my bird enj oy s ! The cat, for 
the mere pleasure of killing a living creature, 
would improve the first opportunity that might 
come in its way to catch and destroy my di- 
minutive pet. The vivisector would care noth- 
ing for its momentary distress if by plunging 
into it a scalpel he could see some physiological 
peculiarity. Were the creature freed from its 
confinement, permitted to roost upon some tree, 
the first boy who might happen by with a shot- 
gun would ask no better fun than to send it in 
agony to the earth. Were its plumage worth 
the having, how willingly would yonder fine lady 
now passing my door transfix the little creature 
and fasten it to her bonnet as an Indian chief 
would tie a scalp to his girdle. There is not a 
taxidermist in all the land who would not kill 
that bird and stuff it for a few shillings. Noth- 



20 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

ing but my fondness for the bird stands between 
it and a painful death. 

Is the case different in the matter of man's 
treatment of his fellow? Is it not true that 

" Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn " ? 

Would a young and beautiful woman be safe a 
quarter of an hour in any city park, to say 
nothing of a lonely country road, after dark? 
Would you count yourself secure at night if it 
were known that you had in your home a con- 
siderable sum of money? Do you not encoun- 
ter upon the street every day men who would 
cut your throat for a few dollars? Range these 
questions, and include them if you will under 
the head of Pessimism, — what does it matter? 
Names go for nothing; it is the thing that 
counts. The man who inveighs against these 
views and insists upon it that his fellows are, all 
of them, at heart good, is just as careful to lock 
his money in the burglar-proof chest he calls his 
safe when he returns home at the end of the day 
as is the person who professes less faith in a 
general distribution of righteousness. There 
does not seem to be a very decided and wide- 
spread confidence in the spotless integrity of our 
officials, or indeed in that of politicians in general. 
All these things, when one sees them clearly, 
have a decided tendency to congeal sympathy, 
create suspicion, and increase the loneliness of 
life. 



THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS 21 

I am not a victim of agaraphobia, or of that 
dread of the ocean which physicians name 
thalassophobia; and yet long distances, when I 
stop to think of them, produce in my mind a de- 
cided sense of loneliness, and, as well, a feeling of 
depression. Vast stretches of space isolate and 
appal the mind. They make man and all his 
affairs seem unimportant and even insignificant. 
Our universe, which is but one of many millions 
of universes, contains countless stars compared 
with many of which our earth is as a pin's point 
for size. Our own sun weighs three hundred and 
thirty times as much as the planet upon which 
we live. The two little words, " No end," seem 
to have in them the sound of doom even when 
they guarantee pleasure. The thought of that 
which never began and can never end is too great 
a thought for the finite mind. Only when it 
brings with it the even greater thought of the 
infinite love of an eternal God can it be endured 
by one who is awake to its meaning. The idea 
of infinite space, numberless stars, unbroken and 
endless duration, involves a loneliness that lan- 
guage is powerless to describe. All supreme 
hours and experiences are companionless. And, 
as a matter of fact, our closest associations are 
more seeming than real. It has been shown by 
men of science that no two particles of matter 
touch each other. We ourselves are like those 
particles. There are unbridged spaces between 
my soul and that of my dearest friend. We 
touch only at points. Society is composed of 



2£ FIRESIDE PAPERS 

social atoms, each atom being a human per- 
sonality. We think we know each other, but the 
isolation is complete. Surely ours is a lonely 
world when once we give it due consideration. 
So thought the poet when he wrote: 

" We are spirits clad in veils ; 

Man by man was never seen; 
All our deep communing fails 

To remove the shadowy screen. 

"Heart to heart was never known; 

Mind with mind did never meet; 
We are columns left alone 

Of a temple once complete." 

There dwelt not long ago in the woods of 
Maine a woman who, in a little hut far removed 
from village life, acquired many unusual lan- 
guages. She was a woman of fine mind and of 
great learning. She read Greek as some of us 
read English. She knew many strange things, 
and was always kind and courteous to those who 
called upon her. Yet few cared for the intel- 
lectual treasures she had to bestow. Had she 
been in the habit of distributing coins to her 
callers she would, no doubt, have received more 
attention than she would have cared for. 

It was only toward the end of his life that 
De Quincey was called a great author. No one 
had thought of the Opium-Eater as an unusual 
writer. Carlyle said of him: 



THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS 23 

" He was a pretty little creature, full of wire- 
drawn ingenuities, bankrupt pride, with the finest 
silver-toned low voice, and most elaborate, gently 
winding courtesies and ingenuities in conversation. 
What wouldn't one give to have him in a box, and 
take him out to talk. A bright, ready, and melodi- 
ous talker, but in the end inconclusive and long- 
winded. One of the smallest man-figures I ever 
saw; shaped like a pair of tongs, and hardly above 
five feet in all. When he was seated, you would 
have taken him, by candle-light, for the beautifulest 
little child, — blue-eyed, sparkling face, — had there 
not been a something, too, which said, ' Eccovi — 
this child has been in hell.' " 

How little did Carlyle understand the lonely 
mind of that marvelous child of genius whose im- 
agination drew for himself and his readers the 
great picture of " The Flight of a Tartar 
Tribe " ! Alas ! gifted, himself, with a rare spirit 
of mystery and power, he yet was unable to com- 
prehend the loneliness of De Quincey's genius. 

The woman who dwelt alone in the Maine 
woods, when asked how many persons visited her 
upon a certain day, said, " Only one." " But," 
said the questioner, " I thought I counted eight." 
The hermit replied, " Eight persons entered my 
hut, but only one even remotely approached me." 
Her experience was that of Thoreau who wrote 
in his home on the shore of Walden Pond : 

" Society is commonly too cheap. We meet at 
very short intervals, not having had time to acquire 



m FIRESIDE PAPERS 

any new value for each other. We meet at meals 
three times a day, and give each other a new taste 
of that old musty cheese that we are. We have had 
to agree on a certain set of rules, called etiquette 
and politeness, to make this frequent meeting tol- 
erable, and that we need not come to open war." 

When Thoreau came to think it over, he won- 
dered why there should be any attempt at the 
artificial meeting of minds separated from each 
other by something more spacious than statute 
miles and degrees of latitude. In " Walden " he 
inquires : 

" What sort of space is that which separates a 
man from his fellows and makes him solitary? I 
have found that no exertion of legs can bring two 
minds much nearer to one another. What do we 
want to dwell near to? Not to many men surely, 
the depot, the post-office, the bar-room, the meeting- 
house, the school-house, the grocery, Beacon Hill, 
or the Five Points, where men most congregate, but 
to the perennial source of our life, whence in all 
our experience we have found that to issue, as the 
willow stands near the water and sends out its roots 
in that direction. This will vary with different 
natures, but this is the place where a wise man will 
dig his cellar." 

" Wisdom divides, and they who know 
Whence forever the far winds blow 
And the swift tides unceasing flow, 
Are sundered by those winds and tides 
From other minds. Wisdom divides." 



THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS 25 

As has been said, the man of genius does not 
always win recognition and substantial reward. 
In the lack of recognition may be discovered a 
very potent source of loneliness. He sees com- 
mon men praised and rewarded for inferior work, 
and the sense of injustice operates as a dividing 
element separating him from his kind. Doubt- 
less it should not so operate, but human nature 
is what it is, and no man takes kindly to lack of 
appreciation and neglect. Publishers are re- 
sponsible, in the case of authors, for much of 
this. They are as mercenary to-day as they 
were a hundred years ago. Chatterton wanted 
for even the common necessities of life. Senan- 
cour rests undisturbed in his tomb beneath the 
willows of Sevres, and few are the pilgrims of 
sentiment who seek his lonely grave. He died, a 
broken-hearted old man, after a long life passed 
in fruitless endeavor. Later, Matthew Arnold 
celebrated his " Obermann," but the crowd can- 
not even now tell you what it was that Arnold 
found in the writings of that solitary recluse to 
interest him so greatly. George Sand and 
Sainte-Beuve recognized his genius, but even 
they could find no publisher who thought his com- 
positions worth printing. 

The advice that an old author gave a young 
writer, though pitiful enough, is not without 
force. " If you want a publisher," said the ex- 
perienced man of letters, "blow your trumpet vig- 
orously. It matters little whether the trumpet 



26 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

be of tin or of some better material so long as the 
wind holds out and the trumpet holds together." 
Not infrequently a poor poem, once started on 
its round, goes from anthology to anthology, re- 
newing its foolish youth with every passing year, 
while much better lines, for lack of " the 
trumpet," sink out of sight and perish utterly. 
I could from my own personal acquaintance with 
authors construct without difficulty a substantial 
list of men of unusual ability, and in some cases 
of marked genius, who, because of modesty, self- 
respect, and even more unfortunate impecunios- 
ity, perished in neglect. 

The publishers tell us that they are looking 
for good books, and that a valuable manuscript 
is never allowed to escape them unless it be by 
some rare mistake. It is not true. Publishers, 
like merchants and others, are out gunning for 
the nimble shekels, and it is the shekel-hitting book 
they want. For that alone I do not blame them. 
If the author may write for money, why may not 
the publisher put his wares upon the market with 
the same end in view? I blame them for their in- 
tensely mercenary spirit, and for their discourse 
about " good books." It is the stolen halo that 
stirs my wrath. 

There is an artificial loneliness of a purely 
aesthetic kind that men of an imaginative and 
poetical turn of mind enjoy. It is not real. 
The best thing about it is the fact that it may be 
put aside when there is the will to do so. It is 
of a sickly nature and has in it little that is 



THE LONELINESS OF GENIUS 27 

noble and manly. Those who have a measure of 
taste for verse, painting, or something else of 
the kind, and yet possess no real artistic genius, 
affect this sort of loneliness. It is, as has been 
said, not a genuine thing, but only a paste that 
a little experience will enable one to distinguish 
from the true gem. It is an imitation of the 
loneliness of genius. Those who sorrow thus 
" swim about in their own tears," and enjoy 
the soothing bath. 



II 

PHILOSOPHERS AND PATRIOTISM 

\A.AAa KaKtivo, Set ere cvOvfieiaOai, on eKaoros rjfi<av 
ovx clvto) fwvov yeyovev, dAAa Trjs yevecrecos ^/xwv to [xev 
tl 7} iraTpls /Ae/3t£erai, to 8e tl ol yevvrjo-avTts, to 8e ot 
Aot7rot <f>l\0L. 

— Plato. 

Was Goethe a patriot? If to join the army, 
toss one's cap in air, shout and sing for liberty, 
and bellow about national honor, — if to do these 
things constitutes one a patriot, then the poet and 
philosopher, the pride and glory of the German 
people, was no patriot. If, on the other hand, to 
live for one's fellow men a worthy and useful life, 
if to use every power of a great mind in the service 
of one's country, — if thus to help one's native land 
constitutes one a patriot, then Goethe was of all men 
an illustrious and noble-minded patriot. 

— Archceologia. 



PHILOSOPHERS AND PATRIOTISM 

IT is commonly charged against philosophers 
that they have little patriotism. It does 
not occur to those who prefer the charge that 
philosophers may have something better about 
which to concern themselves. Thoreau said in 
one of his essays, " To a philosopher all news, 
as it is called, is gossip." There you have the 
secret of much of the serene indifference with 
which men of studious and contemplative mind 
view the political arena. The news of the day 
that so interests the ordinary man is beyond all 
doubt nothing more than gossip. The Germans 
denounced Goethe because he pursued his studies 
and continued his literary work while his coun- 
try was at war with implacable and determined 
enemies. But Germany had hundreds and thou- 
sands of able-bodied men to fight her battles, 
while she had few indeed who were qualified and 
disposed to do her thinking. She had one 
Goethe and only one, and he knew his worth to 
the fatherland and to the great world of many 
fatherlands. He knew his place and his mission, 
and he was faithful to both. The news that fired 
the German heart seemed to him nothing more 
than a larger kind of gossip. True, it was not 
the foolish gossip in which elderly matrons in- 
dulge over their teacups ; but it was the scarcely 
less inconsequent chatter of lords and ladies, of 
soldiers and a sovereign. 
31 



32 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

Goethe had work to do for his country and 
the world, and it was work that called for a tran- 
quil mind undisturbed by the excitement of the 
hour. Against the reproaches of his country- 
men who charged him with indifference, he de- 
fended himself in a memorable paragraph in 
" Eckermann's Conversations with Goethe." To 
those who called him to account for not having 
taken part in the War of Liberation he said: 
" How could I take up arms without being im- 
pelled thereto by hatred? And how could I hate 
at my age? War is foreign to me, and I am 
without military ambition." Still further, he 
pointed out to Eckermann why he could not be- 
come enthusiastic over war. He said frankly 
and without hesitation: 

" I have never written love songs except when I 
loved; how, then, could I have written songs of 
hatred without hating? Between ourselves, I never 
hated the French, although I thanked God when we 
were rid of them. How could I, to whom the ques- 
tion of culture and barbarism alone is all-impor- 
tant, hate a nation which is among the most cul- 
tured of the world, and to which I owe so great a 
part of my own culture? National hatred is in- 
deed a peculiar thing. It is always found more 
pronounced and violent where civilization is lowest; 
but there is a stage of culture where it vanishes 
altogether, where one stands, so to say, above all 
nations, and feels the happiness and the sorrows of 
a neighboring people as much as if they were a 
part of one's own." 



PHILOSOPHERS AND PATRIOTISM 33 

Goethe was wrong in thinking hatred essential 
to a liking for war. Some of the ablest com- 
manders have entertained neither bitterness nor 
dislike. 

No one who knows anything about the glory 
and worth of patriotism will wish to belittle that 
love of country which lies at the foundation of 
civil government, but there are nobler sentiments 
than that of ordinary love of country. The love 
a man may cherish for his race is far greater and 
more blessed than that he may cherish for a 
comparatively small number of men and women 
who live in one place and speak the same lan- 
guage. And glorious beyond all other loves is 
the love of God that may even lead us to refuse 
aid to the land of our birth when that land has 
ranged itself against the cause that we believe 
to be worthy of our support. " My country, 
right or wrong " is an evil motto, and uncondi- 
tional loyalty is disloyalty to God because it ex- 
alts one's country above its Creator and the 
Creator of all lands and of the whole world. 

Fichte was a philosopher, and one of marked 
ability. He held himself in trust for the entire 
world, and for truth above all. He was by no 
means wanting in patriotism, for he gave his 
life in defense of his country. But I think few 
will at this late day justify his sacrifice of him- 
self. His work was worth more to Germany 
than was his life. By connecting himself with the 
army he unintentionally robbed his own land. 
These are his words : 



34 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

" To this I am called — to bear witness to the 
Truth: my life, my fortunes are of little moment; 
the results of my life are of infinite moment. I am 
a priest of truth: I am in her pay; I have bound 
myself to do all things, to venture all things, to 
suffer all things, for her. If I should be hated and 
persecuted for her sake, if I should even meet death 
in her service, what wonderful thing is it I shall 
have done — what but that which I clearly ought 
to do." 

Did he really serve truth when he went into 
the German army ? No, his country should have 
known better; it should have refused the disas- 
trous sacrifice. Any ordinary peasant was then 
and would be now of more value to the army than 
a dozen philosophers ; but Fichte in his lecture- 
room, stimulating and instructing the minds of 
the German youths, was worth more to his coun- 
try than can be easily determined. No country 
can afford to endanger the genius, learning, and 
literary and artistic training over which it has 
control. Authors, artists, musicians of distin- 
guished ability, and men of science should be not 
only exempt from military service, but disquali- 
fied and prohibited from enlisting. Was it well 
that Koerner gave his inspired life to a service 
others could have rendered? How his songs, 
ringing like a battle-cry through the German 
land, thrilled the hearts of his countrymen and 
fired the spirit of the soldiers ! His verses were 
worth more to Germany than ten thousand men- 
at-arms could by any possibility have been. Yet 



PHILOSOPHERS AND PATRIOTISM 35 

in the fierce conflict at Leipsic all that increasing 
wealth of martial enthusiasm was allowed to per- 
ish. Was Koerner's example worth so much to 
his country? Was his sacrifice of himself so 
helpful to his cause? "The Lyre and Sword" 
was worth more ; and what greater service might 
still have been rendered can never be known. 
Everything should be done to encourage genius 
and learning. The glory of a nation is not so 
much in its possessions as in its achievements, and 
these are for the most part the work of its great 
men. Civilization itself is the gift of the few 
to the many. Only while the gifted, trained, and 
qualified few are in control is the land safe and 
its prosperity assured. It is not denied that the 
trained few may prove recreant to their trust, 
and may become wholly unworthy of confidence, 
but that in no wise alters the fact that no coun- 
try is long prosperous when deprived of the wis- 
dom and guidance of its great men. 

The philosopher should be something of a poet 
in his sympathy and tastes. The world is full of 
beauty, but one must have eyes with which to see 
it. In these days men make little of poetry, and 
in some cases they even affect to despise it. But 
poetry, like music, is an open door to some of 
the most marvelous beauties in the great world 
of nature. Dr. Johnson did not like music, and 
who that is familiar with his life does not see 
that the dislike was a limitation of his nature? 
Happily for him that limitation was offset, and 
in a way corrected, by his fondness for poetry. 



36 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

Indeed, the love of poetry is that of music as 
well, and so it came to pass that the " colossus 
of letters " was, without his knowing it, some- 
thing of a lover of music after all. True poetry 
has in it some measure of music. Its words are 
singing words. A subtle enchantment works in 
all its lines, and by that enchantment even Dr. 
Johnson was influenced, though he would have 
developed a towering rage had any daring per- 
son ventured to enlighten him upon the subject. 
" Music," said Plato, " is a moral law. It gives 
a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to 
the imagination, a charm to sadness, gayety and 
life to everything." If we are to trust the 
Greek philosopher, music is an essential part of 
the intellectual universe, and he who despises or 
even neglects it is hardly a philosopher in the bet- 
ter sense of the word. Carlyle knew well the 
meaning of music when he called all minstrelsy 
" a kind of inarticulate, unfathomable speech 
which leads us to the edge of the infinite, and 
lets us for moments gaze into it." 

Goethe and the Greek philosophers who lived 
and wrote long centuries before he saw the light 
viewed this matter in very much the same way. 
It is related of Anaxagoras, who was falsely ac- 
cused of impiety and condemned to death, though 
the sentence was commuted, that he was censured 
by his friends for what they called a want of 
patriotism. He repelled the charge with more 
warmth than was his wont. Pointing to the 
stars, he said, " I have the greatest affection for 



PHILOSOPHERS AND PATRIOTISM 37 

my country." After a moment of silence, dur- 
ing which he still gazed at the heavens, he re- 
sumed his study of astronomy and natural sci- 
ence. He believed that he was serving his coun- 
try by the use he made of his learning in a way 
much better than that in which those who criti- 
cized him thought it his duty to serve it. 

It is to the arts and learning, with the benign 
influence of our Christian faith, that we are to 
look for the final abolition of war. Tol- 
stoy and writers who sympathize with him in 
this matter hate war, and desire above all things 
to create in the hearts of men a like detestation 
and abhorrence of everything resembling an ap- 
peal to arms. They endeavor to expose its bru- 
tality and futility. Seldom does war lead to a 
permanent settlement of any dispute. The van- 
quished nation will not rest until the decison ar- 
rived at by its defeat is reversed in some later 
and more fortunate conflict. Each new year 
brings with it a still more deadly explosive of one 
kind or another. The men who kill their fellow 
men and who must themselves die in battle are 
always from the same social level. They have 
nothing to gain and much to lose. In most cases 
the}' do not know the nature of the quarrel they 
are called to arbitrate with their blood. The so- 
called upper classes, the gentlefolk, are seldom 
seen in the ranks that are so soon to be ploughed 
with shot and shell. The men of birth and breed- 
ing are either superior officers or stay-at-homes 
who not infrequently accumulate fortunes hard to 



38 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

acquire in times of peace. It is always the igno- 
rant, befooled, and, it may be, the coerced work- 
ingmen who pay for the fracas with their lives. 

In Russia war is a business, and the govern- 
ment is never far from a semi-belligerent atti- 
tude. The men who fight have no bitterness of 
spirit. Why should they have? The quarrel is 
in no sense of the word theirs. The only thing 
they hate, when they hate anything, is war itself. 
They are none the worse fighters for that. The 
old belief that hate increases the efficiency of 
armies is a thing of the past. Mr. Jane, the 
distinguished English naval critic, thinks the 
Japanese defeated the Russians because they 
hated them, and were only anxious to kill them, 
while the Russian soldiers felt no bitterness and 
simply acted as machines against their " ant- 
like foes." In my humble opinion Mr. Jane is in 
error. In the first place, the English were the 
real antagonists with whom Russia had to con- 
tend. They financed the war for Japan, and 
they gave that land every possible encourage- 
ment. In the second place, the Japanese were 
moved by a profoundly patriotic spirit, — an 
unthinking, unreasoning spirit, it is true, but 
still a patriotic one. Mr. Jane's theory is that 
of the Great Britain of a century or more ago — 
a theory inherited from half-civilized ancestors. 

The best fighters are the men of cool head and 
determined purpose. They are not the men who 
are anxious to kill, but those who are resolved 
to conquer. It has been said, " The best lovers 



PHILOSOPHERS AND PATRIOTISM 39 

are the greatest haters," but a truer saying is the 
line from a song by Bayard Taylor, " The loving 
are the daring." It is neither hate nor reckless- 
ness that tells with greatest effect on the field of 
battle. Kipling still holds Mr. Jane's worn- 
out theory, but it is a theory that does little 
honor to human nature and that contributes 
nothing toward bringing in that bright day so 
eagerly desired when " they shall beat their 
swords into ploughshares, and their spears into 
pruning-hooks." Koerner did not hate his ene- 
mies whose aim it was to subjugate Prussia. 
Goethe was too much of a philosopher to interest 
himself greatly in war from any point of view. 
Fichte was less of a philosopher for the en- 
thusiasm which drove him from a chair of learn- 
ing in a German university and led him to play 
a less worthy part as a soldier. Men of ideal 
purpose, of poetic genius, artistic feeling and 
achievement, and scientific accomplishments, 
should have nothing to do with those vulgar, in- 
artistic, unscientific, and inhuman cataclysmic 
upheavals that turn the world upside-down for 
no good reason whatever. Think how these up- 
heavals endanger the world's priceless treasures 
of art and learning. Think for one moment 
what it means to bombard a city holding within 
its walls the Venus de Milo, that miracle of 
beauty in marble : 

" Venus triumphant ! so serene and tender 
In thy calm after-bloom of life and love, 



40 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

More fair than when of old thy sea-born splendor 
Surprised the senses of Olympian Jove." 

Think of shelling a city to the keeping of which 
is entrusted the Madonna di San Sisto, the most 
wonderful of all Raphael's creations. Think of 
endangering a city over which falls the shadow 
of the Parthenon. Once that " finest edifice on 
the finest site in the world " was damaged by 
a Venetian shell; and again, in 1827, it was 
slightly injured by an invading host. Think of 
offering violence to a city that treasures for all 
the world Westminster Abbey. These gifts of 
genius to our human race are worth more than 
many victories. Of what sacrilege were the Ger- 
man troops guilty when they destroyed the beau- 
tiful city of Louvain, and when, with ruthless 
hand and savage instincts, they made of the 
Cathedral of Notre Dame at Rheims a target for 
their shells. Men who commit such outrages are 
the enemies of civilization. The cathedral, dat- 
ing from the thirteenth century, was, because 
both of its age and of its architectural excellence, 
the joy and pride of an entire world. 

The more one sees of war the more one realizes 
its iniquity. It is a crime against mankind. 
We do not for a moment question the right of 
every nation to defend its own territory against 
the invader; but when that necessity arises, war 
is still a calamity, and the aggressor is to be ac- 
counted an enemy of all good men. As such he 
is to be dealt with by every civilized nation. 



PHILOSOPHERS AND PATRIOTISM 4*1 

w Blessed are the peacemakers." Another has 
well said: 

" Blessed are the peace-dreamers; for they shall be 

called the poets of mankind. 
" Blessed are the peace-shouters ; for they shall be 

called the orators of the common weal. 
" Blessed are the peace-schemers ; for they shall be 

called the diplomatists of the modern world. 
" Blessed are the peace-makers ; for they shall be 

called the Sons of God." 

War will become a thing of the past when the 
common men of all lands refuse to leave farm and 
shop, and say to governments of every kind, 
" We will not fight." All must refuse if the 
movement is to succeed. If a few hold back and 
refuse to defend their country, they must be 
accounted guilty of treason. The movement 
must cease to be treasonable by becoming gen- 
eral. No single nation can disarm. If the Ger- 
man Empire can spend forty years in preparing 
to subjugate Europe, then Europe must spend 
those same forty years in preparing to pre- 
vent that subjugation. The common people in 
all lands must act together. When they do so 
act, there will be no more war. The common 
men are the men that are killed in battle. Most 
of those who enlist and nearly all who are 
drafted are from the humbler walks of life. 
That is because most of the men and women in 
all lands are born and live in the lowly homes 
and occupations of the world. The few are ed- 



42 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

ucated, and still fewer may be trusted with the 
care of property and the great enterprises of 
this world, all of which render them far too 
valuable to be wasted in a bloody battle. Their 
education enables them to avoid in many ways 
the common conscription. Knowing more than 
the average men and women of the world, they 
know the various ways of escaping duties and 
dangers that others must face with what courage 
they may. There is a way of escaping almost 
everything if you only know the way. Educated 
men know many ways and many things of which 
the uneducated are ignorant. 

It is said that most of the taxes are paid by 
the poor. There is much truth in the saying. 
There are various ways of avoiding taxation. 
Some of those ways are dishonest, and some of 
them involve no breaking of law. Education 
helps a man here as elsewhere. The professional 
classes, as a general thing, do not go to the war. 
They are of less use in the army than are men 
of affairs. When men of cultivated mind do go, 
they are usually commissioned officers, chaplains, 
surgeons, or engineers, and as such are not 
wanted on the firing line. They also may re- 
sign if they wish. The dangers, burdens, and 
hardships of war fall to common men, whilst the 
emoluments and advantages go to the privileged 
few. It would be a blessed thing if the com- 
mon men of all nations could combine and refuse 
to fight. We have already learned not to waste 
men of genius and of exceptional ability upon 



PHILOSOPHERS AND PATRIOTISM 43 

war ; how long will it be before we learn that com- 
mon men have a value, and are not to be wasted 
on shot and shell! 

The rights of common men will not be re- 
spected so long as the military idea prevails. 
German Imperialism is opposed to both modern 
civilization and the rights of ordinary men. 
Civilization rests upon the people, while Im- 
perialism looks to the army. The German Em- 
peror said, " The army is the foundation of the 
social structure of the Empire. . . . The sol- 
dier and the army, not parliamentary majorities 
and decisions, have welded together the German 
Empire. My confidence is in the army ; — as 
my grandfather said at Coblenz, ' These are the 
gentlemen on whom I can rely.' " 

What the Emperor thinks of the people may 
be learned from one of his addresses as reported 
by a German professor, the distinguished Dr. 
Ludwig Gurlitt. This is what the Emperor 
said : " The masses are children not yet of age. 
The government alone is competent to prescribe 
the course of their social and cultural develop- 
ment." The Emperor is Germany. It is his 
prerogative to govern alone, with no responsi- 
bility of any kind. His word is law. Of course 
that means despotism pure and simple. The 
common man can have no rights under such a 
system. 

In order to carry out the German program 
it is necessary to shut off criticism. The light 
must be extinguished. It is a rule with the Eng- 



44 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

lish royal family that no member of it, from the 
King himself down to the least important per- 
son connected with him, is ever to bring an action 
for libel, no matter how vile the slander may 
be. The German Emperor takes a more dras- 
tic method of procedure. All criticism of the 
sovereign is Use majeste, no matter how just and 
wholesome it may be. If you say anything about 
the Emperor of which he does not approve, he 
may send you to prison. The man who is 
placed above criticism is also placed above re- 
sponsibility. You cannot call him to account 
for anything. Under such a system neither the 
common man nor any other kind of a man can 
have any guaranty that his rights will be pro- 
tected. He has no rights to protect. 

All absolutists hate free institutions. Thus 
Bismarck did not like the United States. He 
was born under an absolute monarchy and he 
was a believer in militarism, and it grieved him 
to see German boys emigrate to our American 
Republic. Why should they wish to leave the 
Fatherland and live all their days under a con- 
stitutional government? He could not see, or 
rather he would not see, that only under free 
governments like those of England and America 
the common man possesses rights that must be 
respected by all. 



Ill 

THE PHILOSOPHIC TEMPER 

Be mine a philosopher's life in the quiet woodland 

ways, 
Where if I cannot be gay let a passionless peace be 

my lot. 

— Tennyson. 

Years that bring the philosophic mind. 

— Wordsworth. 

How charming is divine philosophy ! 

Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, 

But musical as is Apollo's lute. 

— Milton. 



THE PHILOSOPHIC TEMPER 

IT is the shame of the age in which we live that 
it has in large measure lost the ancient de- 
light in nature that filled with overflowing glad- 
ness the Greek mind and heart, and that has al- 
ways been associated with true culture. Our 
fathers read poetry. They did not count the 
literature of imagination worthless. With neg- 
lect of the ideal elements in life comes a dense 
vulgarity that degrades whatever it touches. 
Beautiful pictures are viewed only as ornaments. 
Art loses its ethical significance and becomes 
merely decorative. Faith languishes and dies 
deserted, where once she spoke with author- 
ity, and had for all the world a vision of an- 
gels. 

In Charles Darwin, the greatest interpreter of 
the physical side of nature our world has ever 
known, we have an illustration of the benumbing 
influence of natural science when wholly sepa- 
rated from moral and spiritual forces and ideals. 
In his early life Darwin was fond of music and 
poetry. He once thought of entering the Chris- 
tian ministry. Later he gave himself up to the 
study of natural history, and became so absorbed 
in that branch of learning that he put aside all 
refining influences. The taste for beauty died 
within him. Physical truth, the facts of science, 
the laws of the material universe, — these took 
entire possession of his mind. Toward the end of 
47 



48 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

life he remembered with sadness his lost treasures. 
He wrote: 

" If I had to live my life again, I would make it 
a rule to read some poetry and listen to some music 
at least once every week; for perhaps the parts of 
my brain now atrophied would be kept active 
through use. The loss of these tastes is a loss of 
happiness, and may possibly be injurious to the in- 
tellect, and more probably to the moral character, 
by enfeebling the emotional part of our nature." 

In the same way religious feeling faded from 
the mind of the great naturalist. He wrote in 
his journal: 

" I well remember my conviction that there is 
more in man than the mere breath of his body, and 
I so expressed myself, standing in the midst of the 
grandeur of a Brazilian forest. But now the 
grandest scenes would not cause any such convic- 
tions and feelings to rise in my mind. It may be 
truly said that I am like a man who has become 
color-blind. . . . Disbelief crept over me at a 
very slow rate; but was at last complete. The 
rate was so slow that I felt no distress." 

No man can afford to do what Darwin did, 
much less can he afford to range himself with 
Buchner, Vogt, and Haeckel. We must keep all 
the windows of the soul open to the beautiful, — 
the beautiful in both art and ethics. 

" A pagan, kissing, for a step of Pan, 

The wild-goat's hoof-print on the loamy down, 



THE PHILOSOPHIC TEMPER 49 

Exceeds our modern thinker who turns back 
The strata-granite, limestone, coal, and clay, 
Concluding coldly with, ' Here's law ! Where's 
God?'" 

It may do us good to remember that for the 
poorest nature, unless the mind be actually de- 
ranged, our world is crowded with opportunities 
which no man can afford to despise, and any one 
of which might lead on to fortune. In other 
words, the philosophic temper implies hope. It 
is astonishing how easily we relax our hold upon 
hope. Every year hundreds of men and women 
resort to suicide who have or should have many 
reasons for wishing to live. Among those who 
committed suicide in the United States in 1907, 
there were one hundred and ten persons of dis- 
tinction and education, such as clergymen, phy- 
sicians, teachers, bankers, artists, capitalists, 
merchants, officials, and manufacturers. Some 
of these may have been insane, but the large ma- 
jority we must account to have been of sound 
mind, unless we hold suicide to be always in itself 
conclusive evidence of mental derangement. The 
most distressing thing connected with the statis- 
tics of suicide is the increasing number of chil- 
dren who take their own lives. Dr. Samuel Mc- 
Comb, in his book, " Religion and Medicine," at- 
tributes the self-murder of little children to dis- 
illusion, — that is to say, to the loss of the ideal. 
The fairy world dissolves, and the naked matter- 
of-fact life of commonplace experience crowds 



50 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

out from the delicate child-mind the early ro- 
mance and tender faith which, once lost, never 
return. 

Not long ago I received through the mail a 
pamphlet setting forth the great advantage to 
be derived from a union of all Christian churches 
under a single denominational standard. Of 
course the standard was to be that under which 
the author of the pamphlet was already enrolled. 
I once heard a man describe in glowing colors 
the republic of the future that was to unite all 
nations in common devotion to popular institu- 
tions, one flag, and one language. Of course the 
republic was to have its capitol somewhere in 
the District of Columbia, its flag was to be 
abundantly supplied with stars and stripes, and 
its language was to be that in which the orator 
was declaiming. When election time ap- 
proaches, a thousand wigwams and town halls 
spout fire, and we are assured upon every hand 
that the Kingdom of Heaven is about to be in- 
augurated. But after the election is over, and 
the banners have been taken down, the Kingdom 
of Heaven seems to be about as far away as it 
ever was. Quack doctors and reformers have 
their panaceas, and all kinds of nostrums are 
prescribed, but somehow popular ills continue. 
The Socialist is sure that, could he have his way, 
the world would be made over at once . into a 
Garden of Eden. 

When will men learn that life is in large meas- 
ure what they make it, and that a hundred differ- 



THE PHILOSOPHIC TEMPER 51 

ent men, with as many different dispositions and 
temperaments, must forever make a variety and 
inequality in both church and state that nothing 
can reduce to a common level? It is not true 
that all men are born free and equal. Money, 
education, health, intellectual gifts, unforeseen 
circumstances, and much besides, render equality 
nothing but an iridescent dream of the visionary. 
One man is born with a silver spoon in his mouth, 
and another is born with his teeth set on edge. 
We cannot have all the prosperity we want, nor 
can we all succeed in what we undertake. Thou- 
sands covet the wealth of Croesus, the fame of 
Alexander, and the genius of Shakespeare, but 
for all their coveting they get nothing but dis- 
appointment. 

Inequality is the rule of life, and the sooner 
we make up our minds to take things as they 
come, turning them to the best account for our- 
selves and others, the larger will be our field of 
usefulness and the greater will be our reward. 
We should all of us cultivate a philosophic 
temper that refuses to brood over troubles, break 
its heart over trifles, and contend against the 
inevitable. We must adapt ourselves to circum- 
stances, and remember that the wise man " stoops 
to conquer." The forces of nature become our 
willing servants only when we learn to obey them. 
The key to every situation is found in surrender. 
The man who most vigorously asserts his per- 
sonal independence is most likely the very man 
who knows the least of true liberty. Any fool 



52 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

may fire a gun and wave a flag, but he is the true 
patriot who obeys the law, minds his own busi- 
ness, practices virtue, and subordinates his per- 
sonal interests to the public good. 

We shall find it impossible to cultivate a 
philosophic temper unless we learn to extract 
pleasure from the common things of life. The 
world is full of beauty, but only the poet's eye 
discerns it. A lady visited Turner's studio, 
where she saw a picture of wood and field that 
she had often seen. Long she gazed at the can- 
vas, and then exclaimed, " Mr. Turner, I have 
been under those trees and by that meadow brook 
many times, but I could never see what you have 
put into that landscape." " Well, madame," re- 
plied Turner, " but don't you wish you could 
see it ? " 

The ability to see makes all the world ours. 
The poet's eye, even though we may not have the 
poet's gift of utterance, is essential to the 
philosophic temper, for surely we cannot take 
the world for what it is unless we know it to be 
good; and we cannot be satisfied with what it 
offers unless in it all we discern the beauty. The 
gardener turns the sod, but his dull eyes perceive 
not 

" The pomp of poppied meadows, 
The revel of June roses." 

The philosophic temper dispels in a measure 
the fear of death, — that dreadful fear so hard to 
overcome, and which, unless we do overcome it, 



THE PHILOSOPHIC TEMPER 53 

must inevitably deprive life of its sweetness and 
delight. To the men and women of a generation 
or two ago thanatophobia, or dread of death, was 
a perpetual distress. A modern poet has written 
lines which, save for their unbelief, belong to 
the time of Cromwell rather than to the period 
in which we live ; and yet I fear there are many 
even now who find those lines true to their own ex- 
perience. 

"I am afraid to think about my death, — 
When it shall be, and whether in great pain 
I shall rise up and fight the air for breath, 
Or calmly wait the bursting of my brain. 

** I am no coward who could seek in fear 
A folklore solace of sweet Indian tales; 
I know dead men are deaf, and cannot hear 
The singing of a thousand nightingales. 

" I know dead men are blind, and cannot see 
The friend that shuts in horror their big eyes; 
And they are witless, — oh, I'd rather be 
A living mouse than dead as a man dies." 

I never before heard of a man who could wish 
to be a living mouse rather than a dead human 
being, but I knew of one who said he would much 
prefer to be a live dog that fears no future than 
the man he was, facing day after day a destiny 
that he could not understand and that caused 
him only terror. Death makes miserable cow- 
ards of many of us. An experience that is uni- 



54 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

versal should not be so greatly dreaded. The 
author of the foregoing lines seems to view death 
as the end of all things. I understand him to 
mean by the " folklore solace of sweet Indian 
tales," in which he sees nothing more than 
race-fables and legends, that heavenly home, the 
blessed anticipation which gives the Christian 
peace and gladness of heart. If I am right in 
my interpretation, the author must find some 
other solace, or face alone the great future, with- 
out hope. 

I do not wonder that men who believe in no 
other world than this look forward to death with 
mournful foreboding and, in many cases, with 
fear. Strange it is, those who hold that there 
is nothing behind the veil to awaken apprehen- 
sion, still approach that veil with anxiety. It 
would seem to indicate that after all they are 
not so sure of personal extinction as they pro- 
fess to be. Still, it is to be remembered that an- 
nihilation is to some a more dreadful thing than 
death, unless death be viewed as preliminary to 
an existence of great distress. Professor Hux- 
ley a short time before his last sickness wrote to 
John Morley : " It is a curious thing that I find 
my dislike to the thought of extinction increas- 
ing as I get older, and nearer the goal. It 
flashes across me at times with a sort of horror 
that in 1900 I shall probably know no more of 
what is going on than I did in 1800." 

Professor George J. Romanes went as far in 
agnosticism as did Huxley. He was the en- 



THE PHILOSOPHIC TEMPER 55 

thusiastic pupil, and later the friend, of Charles 
Darwin, for whom he retained to the end of his 
life the most profound reverence. Darwin was 
always a frank and honorable antagonist, who 
sought, not victory, but truth. He could see 
even better than could Romanes the other side of 
an argument. One day during the period of 
Romanes' unbelief, — a period during which he 
was in substantial agreement with Darwin, — the 
former published an essay against Theism. 
Soon after the publication of that essay, Dar- 
win, recognizing the difficulties of unbelief, ad- 
dressed a letter to Romanes, in which he said that 
he could see no way in which a scientific man 
could prove that force and matter possessed neces- 
sarily, and apart from God, the attributes they 
now have, and that they had had them from all 
past eternity. 

But Romanes could not rest in unbelief with 
that indifference which seemed so natural to the 
author of " The Origin of Species." Like John 
Fiske, he began new investigations with a view 
to the discovery of some substantial foundation 
for religious faith. He had a great love for 
certainties ; more than that, he had within him a 
deep longing for spiritual rest. Little by little, 
with hard fighting and no lack of distress, he laid 
what he believed to be a solid foundation for 
faith. It certainly sustained him in life and 
comforted him in death. 

Darwin was in every respect a man of science. 
His entire life centered in those branches of 



56 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

physical science to which in early life he gave 
his entire mind and, indeed, his whole being. 
Romanes was also a man of great scientific at- 
tainment, but he was alive in every direction. 
He possessed both the religious and the philo- 
sophic temper. He could not leave matters of 
such great importance where Darwin left them, 
to live or die as the case might be. His habits 
of physical investigation and his scientific train- 
ing were neither of them had at the fearful cost 
of spiritual suicide. 

Dr. C. A. Stephens has spent much time in his 
laboratory at Norway Lake, in Maine, demon- 
strating to himself that " death ends all." I 
never heard that the demonstration convinced 
any one but himself. On the strength of his in- 
conclusive experiments, he publishes from time 
to time certain books of despair. If the human 
race is doomed, can it help any one to know of 
that doom? Shall we be made stronger by an- 
ticipating our approaching defeat? I thank 
God that faith has a better foundation and a 
more hopeful outlook. 

Among adults loss of spiritual hope is often 
the impelling cause of self-destruction. Severe 
Calvinistic views of destiny, the fear of Divine 
Justice, and an inward sense of guilt, are causes 
that operate in mature minds. There can be no 
doubt that the Roman Catholic confessional has 
been the means of saving hundreds, if not thou- 
sands, of human lives. It has enabled remorse- 
ful souls to unburden conscience. Even Prot- 






THE PHILOSOPHIC TEMPER 57 

estant ministers are called upon to hear the di- 
vulgements of guilt-oppressed men and women. 
Whatever destroys ideal and spiritual elements in 
human life tends to suicide. Whatever strains 
those elements conducts to the same end. Wein- 
inger, in his book, " Sex and Character," de- 
prived man of every ideal element, and left him 
nothing but an animal, and not a first-class ani- 
mal at that. The world was not surprised when 
Weininger took his own life. 

The philosophic temper kindles hope. It says 
to every man, " Fortune smiles upon thousands 
around you — your turn may come next. Why 
throw away your chance? " It lights up the 
ideal world. It breathes the name of God. It 
whispers, " Wait." It also suggests to the soul 
that what it most fears may not be so bad after 
all, and that many things coveted are not so good 
as they appear. It brings to mind the old 
maxim, " Never cross a bridge before you come 
to it," — that is to say, do not anticipate trou- 
bles. It takes short views of life. The future 
we dread may never come to us. Many things 
that we fear, we should not fear did we know them 
better. 

The philosophic temper avoids extreme views 
and opinions. It uses the good things of life 
with moderation. It has little to do with radical 
reformers. The men who think it wicked to 
smoke a cigar, drink a glass of ale, or see a clean 
play at the theatre, are not attractive to the 
philosophic temper. Few things are evil in 



58 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

themselves. In the heart of man, and not in the 
forces of nature, are the malign and deadly in- 
fluences we deplore. Our Puritan fathers dis- 
trusted the world and feared its contaminating 
influence. Even good things, if they were not of 
a distinctly religious nature, were to be avoided. 
Sorrow and renunciation were ministers of grace, 
but laughter and light-heartedness were nigh 
unto perdition. The philosophical temper views 
life and the world in a different light. It re- 
joices in the beauty of the earth, and enters 
gladly into the pleasures and occupations of hu- 
man nature and society. The words of the 
sacred writer are ever upon its lips : " A merry 
heart doeth good like a medicine." " Cranks " of 
every kind are its aversion. For heresy-hunters 
and fanatics who, had they lived two or three 
centuries ago, would have toasted their fellow- 
men who were not of their faith over slow fires, 
the philosophic temper has no liking. Its gospel 
is one of hope, and its mission one of love. 

From the earliest times Stoic and Epicurean 
divided the world between them. The one found 
its immortal expression in Rome, and the other is 
best understood by studying the artistic, elegant, 
and sensual civilization of ancient Greece. To 
both schools the race of man will look in vain 
for a solution of the vast problem of human life 
on earth, and for a solution of the still greater 
problem of a life to come. The worthier charac- 
ters are, beyond doubt, found among the Stoics. 



THE PHILOSOPHIC TEMPER 59 

The disciples of Zeno, who governed themselves 
by the laws of reason so far as those laws were 
known in the early days of Greece, were surely 
the wiser and better men. Epictetus stands out 
in bold relief, a sublime and noble character. 
Lecky says in his " History of European 
Morals " : 

" Cicero has left us no grander example than 
that of Epictetus, the sickly, deformed slave of a 
master who was notorious for his barbarity; en- 
franchised late in life, but soon driven into exile 
by Domitian; who, while sounding the very abyss 
of human misery and looking forward to death as 
to simple decomposition, was yet so filled with the 
sense of the Divine presence that his life was one 
continued hymn to Providence, and his writings and 
his example, which appeared to his contemporaries 
almost the ideal of human goodness, have not lost 
their consoling power through all the ages and the 
vicissitudes they have survived." 

Marcus Aureiius accounted his knowledge of 
Epictetus to be one of the greatest blessings he 
had received from biography and the study of 
ethics. Lecky repeats the old story, in one of 
the footnotes to his " History of European 
Morals," of Epictetus warning his master, who 
was thrashing him, that he would soon break his 
leg. When the leg had been broken Epictetus 
calmly said, " I told you what would be the re- 
sult." Celsus said to the Christians of his day, 
" Did your Leader, under suffering, ever say any- 



60 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

thing so noble as that? " Origen replied for 
his fellow-believers, " He did what was still 
nobler, — He kept silence." 

MARCUS AURELIUS AND EPICTETUS i 

Twin stars, serene and pure, 

In the fear-haunted gloom 

Of the wild pagan night, — 

So long, so long ago! 

In royal purple one, 

Philosopher and saint, 

With words divinely wise; 

The other but a slave, 

Yet monarch still who ruled 

The godlike minds of men. 

Alone, undimmed, they burned 

Above a world of doom 

Until the morning-red 

Flamed crimson in the east, 

And the ascending dawn 

Of an immortal Christ 

Filled the blue heavens with light. 

Pleasure, which the Stoics denied, is neverthe- 
less essential to life at its best. Pleasure is the 
sun without which few virtues can ever ripen 
save in some exceptional soul. Marcus Aurelius 
said, " To ask to be paid for virtue is as if the 
eye demanded to be recompensed for seeing, or 
the feet for walking." Still there would be little 
virtue were there no pleasure. 

Hegel finished his " Phenomenologie des 

i Marvin: "Poems and Translations," Boston, 1914, 



THE PHILOSOPHIC TEMPER 61 

Geistes " in his quiet little study at Jena on the 
memorable fourteenth of October, 1806, wholly 
oblivious of the wild battle-storm that raged 
around him. So completely was his mind occu- 
pied with the work he had set himself that not 
the faintest echo of that desperate conflict inter- 
fered with his labor. Every man should be in 
some measure the master of circumstance and 
an arbiter of destiny. There can be neither 
strength nor happiness in a life driven by every 
wind of fortune, be it good or ill. Self-con- 
trol is one of the most important elements in the 
philosophic temper. We may, if we will, regu- 
late our passions, and these have much to do 
with prosperity and welfare. Anger, when vio- 
lent, is as truly a poison as are toxic drugs. It 
brings about certain pathological changes and 
conditions that may easily cause, not only sick- 
ness, but death itself. Of that let the physician 
discourse ; our point of view is not so much that 
of medicine as of philosophy. Anger injures 
self-respect, limits usefulness, and degrades the 
man in his own eyes. It will concern the philoso- 
pher as well as the physician to remember that 
violent displeasure is ruinous to the heart and 
also to the digestive organs. Wise indeed was 
the physician 'who refused to dine with a man 
who was enraged at the misconduct of one of his 
servants. " Your condition of mind," said the 
man of science, " is one that affects your body, 
for mind and body are so closely united that 
what hurts one injures as well the other. You 



62 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

know very well that you have an imperfect heart 
that may be stopped at any moment by an ex- 
plosion of wrath. I will not dine with you while 
your mind is in its present disturbed state." 

I believe that the cultivation of the temper un- 
der review leads to kindness of heart and would 
make the world a much better place to live in. 
With all his brusqueness, and even, at times, bru- 
tality, Bismarck had much of the "live and let 
live " philosophy, and it humanized him so that 
men loved him and willingly followed after him. 
The story of the last cigar at Koniggratz 1 illus- 
trates what has been said. 

" The value of a good cigar/' said Bismarck, as 
he proceeded to light an excellent Havana, " is best 
understood when it is the last you possess, and there 
is no chance of getting another. At Koniggratz 
I had only one cigar left in my pocket, which I 
carefully guarded during the whole of the battle 
as a miser does his treasure. I did not feel justified 
in using it. I painted in glowing colors in my mind 
the happy hour when I should enjoy it after the 
victory. But I miscalculated my chances. And 
what was the cause of my miscalculation? A poor 
dragoon. He lay helpless, with both arms crushed, 
asking for something to refresh him. I felt in my 
pockets and found only gold, and that would be of 
no use to him. But, stay, I had still my treasured 
cigar! I lighted this for him and placed it between 
his teeth. You should have seen the poor fellow's 

i The name given by the Prussians to the battle of 
Sadowa. 



THE PHILOSOPHIC TEMPER 63 

grateful smile! I never enjoyed a cigar so much 
as that one which I did not smoke." 

The campaign against tobacco has always 
found the kindly and friendly associations of the 
weed too much for the fanatic. It was the 
calumet, or pipe of peace, that made it possible 
for the white man to have conference with the red 
man. The treaty of peace was made and con- 
firmed in a fragrant cloud of smoke, for men 
never smoke together who are not on terms of 
amity. Dr. Adam Clarke, the Bible commenta- 
tor, was a good man, but he was a poor philoso- 
pher when he made up his mind that the instincts 
of all nations were wrong, and that tobacco was 
the devil's weed. He held that tobacco was a 
deadly poison, to be shunned by all Christians, and 
especially those of the Wesleyan variety. Some 
one asked him why God made such a wicked plant, 
and the question distressed him greatly. After 
much holy meditation he decided that tobacco 
was a medicine, to be taken at times in pills, tinc- 
tures, and so on, but never to be smoked or 
chewed. King James was of the same opinion, 
as all know who have read his " Counterblast." 
He argues that smoking is worse than drunken- 
ness. Cromwell ordered his troopers to destroy 
the crops of tobacco by trampling them under 
foot. Never was plant more powerfully op- 
posed. But to-day all over the world that genial 
herb promotes peace and fosters good feeling. 



64 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

Its fragrant leaves are the symbol of fellowship 
and of the philosophic temper. 

It should always be remembered that no 
philosophy is sound that leaves God out of con- 
sideration, or that fails of perceiving his good- 
ness and of confiding in his character. Day and 
night we are in the encircling embrace of infinite 
Love. That Love called us into being, and upon 
its bosom we are cradled. " Beneath us are the 
everlasting arms." Thus do the sacred writings 
teach us to view the Creator, and all the later dis- 
closures of natural science point in the same di- 
rection. 

Kant holds that it is the office of philosophy to 
answer three questions: 1. What can I know? 
2. What ought I to do? 3. What may I hope 
for? It seems to us that true philosophy goes 
further, and makes to us disclosure of our pres- 
ent possessions. It opens the eye to the vision of 
an infinite, eternal, and unchangeable Friend, 
and renders forever true the words of the 
poet : 

" Out of the shadows of night 
The world rolls into light; 
It is daylight everywhere." 



IV 

MAUPASSANT AND POE 

Maupassant saw life with his senses, and he re- 
flected on it in a purely animal revolt, the recoil of 
the hurt animal. His observation is not, as it has 
been hastily assumed to be, cold; it is as super- 
ficially emotional as that of the average sensual 
man, and its cynicism is only another, not less 
superficial, kind of feeling. He saw life in all its 
details, and his soul was entangled in the details. 
He saw it without order, without recompense, with- 
out pity; he saw it too clearly to be duped by ap- 
pearances, and too narrowly to distinguish any light 
beyond what seemed to him the enclosing bounds of 
darkness. 

— Arthur Symons. 

Had Poe possessed a small, bright intellect, pro- 
portioned to his nature, he would have been a happy 
and successful man, but unknown. Had he pos- 
sessed a nature commensurate with his intellect, he 
would have been one of the greatest of the human 
race. 

— Hawthorne. 



MAUPASSANT AND POE 

IT may be we should never have heard of Guy 
de Maupassant h.id there been no Edgar Allan 
Poe. Both men were masters of the short story ; 
both were gifted with that clear, penetrating in- 
tellectual sight which goes at once with unerring 
certainty to the heart of the thing to be por- 
trayed; both were able to compress a world of 
meaning into the narrow compass of a few pages ; 
both were cynical and took dark, pessimistic 
views of life; both passed in youth through the 
dismal process of endeavoring to adapt a highly 
poetic temperament, fine tastes, and unusual 
gifts to a commercial pursuit; and both made a 
failure as dismal as the process itself. But when 
you come to the substance of their work, the ma- 
terial selected, the situations chosen, and the ef- 
fect produced, you find in the productions of 
Maupassant, to remind you of Poe, only here and 
there a lowering storm-cloud that soon dissolves 
in light and flowers and song. Of Poe's soul of 
horror, that " mystic obsession " of terror, that 
weird and desolating beauty that unites in one al- 
luring romance and companionless despair, al- 
most nothing is to be found in the brilliant pages 
of our French author. 

Though both writers were cynical, pessimistic, 

and at times despondent, Maupassant's view of 

life had in it some of those brighter and more 

pleasing features the want of which often ren- 

67 



68 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

ders the work of Poe distressing to the ordinary 
reader. Maupassant had great delight in nature. 
He could lie for hours upon the grass or beneath 
the spreading branches of a leafy tree, perfectly 
happy in the contemplation of the verdured 
earth and so much of the blue sky as could dis- 
close itself through interlacing boughs. Flow- 
ers gave him exquisite pleasure. The sounds of 
nature intoxicated him. The moaning of the 
wind in the tree-tops, the chirp of insects, and 
the song of birds, — especially that of the night- 
ingale, — filled him with indescribable satisfaction. 
The roar of the ocean rendered him oblivious of 
all else. The sights of nature had upon him 
much the same effect that natural sounds had. 
Cattle browsing in the fields, the simple life of the 
peasant, the landscape, and, above all, the joy- 
ous existence of children, — of these he could not 
have too much. His was not the old pagan 
pleasure ; it was rather the artistic delight of the 
modern mind. His senses were keen and alert. 
He had what has been called " a joyous animal- 
ism," in which the spiritual element was singu- 
larly wanting. He reveled in form and color 
with an artist's joy. His ears were sensitive to 
every sound. The whisper of love, the cry of 
passion, the note of terror, and the shout of 
triumph all seized upon him and held him fast. 
But the seizure was upon the physical side of his 
nature. 

Of course he reappears in his books. Every 
man is in a measure the hero of his own story. 



MAUPASSANT AND POE 69 

His life was not pure; why should we expect to 
find immaculate purity in his work? Where 
the flame is not without smoke there must be some 
smudge of soot. His stories are coarse and some 
of them are, if we mince not our words, libidi- 
nous. But they are not all of them evil, and per- 
haps few that are evil are wholly so. He por- 
trayed vice, but it can hardly be said that he ren- 
dered it attractive. There was with it too much 
of the horror of its fruitage. His descriptive 
powers were great, but he could describe only 
that of which he had himself knowledge. Pas- 
sion he could paint, and as well " the raptures and 
roses of vice," but of love in its better meaning 
he knew nothing. Of marriage he had a poor 
opinion. His soul was incapable of that sacred 
union. " Boule de Suif," which gave Maupas- 
sant his sudden recognition, illustrates what we 
are saying. The motif of the story is certainly 
not elevating. It presents us with a clear, re- 
morseless, and witty picture of selfishness and in- 
sincerity. It brings out the sordid side of hu- 
man nature. It shows up the meanness and rot- 
tenness of those who pretend to a virtue they do 
not possess. Uncleanness plays a large part, 
but surely the reader is not made to love evil. 
The reading brings with it an inward disgust, a 
loathing, a sense of foulness, but the story is 
moral in the same way that Daudet's " Sappho " 
is moral. The latter romance may be played 
upon the stage in such a way as to make it las- 
civious to the very last degree, — it was so played. 



70 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

But the tale as we have it from Daudet is good 
and only good. Any young man reading it may 
see with fearful distinctness how from first to 
last a bad woman may ruin a pure life, how un- 
der her baneful shadow the most noble and manly 
virtues may themselves become the servitors of 
vice. 

It is a good thing to know that Maupassant, 
unlike most young authors, restrained himself 
from premature publication. For seven long 
years he toiled at the unattractive duties of a 
clerk of the navy and education departments. 
Wearisome work it must have been. The old life 
in Normandy during all that time haunted his 
imagination. He dreamed of the dear hills, 
fields, and brooks of earlier days. He grew 
homesick and despondent, but still he worked on. 
Only upon a Sunday could he visit the beautiful 
environs of Paris. Sometimes a holiday gave 
him a few hours of canoeing on the Seine — an 
occasional " holiday and six francs ! " During 
all that time he wrote, but no one knew what he 
wrote. He entered into no communication with 
any one, until suddenly the young toiler made his 
debut, and astonished Paris gave him cordial 
recognition, — gave him more, for the immediate 
demand for his work was so great that neither he 
nor his publishers could meet it. Fortune and 
fame came with a sudden rush. 

The unclean life of the gay French capital was 
not good for the delicate and sensitive author. 



MAUPASSANT AND POE 71 

Why repeat the sad tale? Suffice it to say that 
overwork, licentiousness, drugs, alcohol, entire 
neglect of the ordinary laws of health, were more 
than his fine temperament could endure. Over 
the blinded mental vision of our gifted writer the 
shadows began to fall. Slowly at first, and later 
with great swiftness, melancholy thoughts pur- 
sued him. The mental faculties crumbled, and in 
a fit of despair he made an assault upon his own 
life. A watchful friend prevented the suicide, 
and foreign travel was tried as a remedial agent, 
but with no marked result. His physician pre- 
scribed a period of rest and retirement in a villa 
at Cannes, but this also failed to benefit him. It 
was too late. The gifted author, — gifted as few 
have been, praised and admired by an enthusias- 
tic public, — lingered eighteen months in a strait- 
jacket, and then died of general paresis. 

Poe's life also was one of dissipation. So far 
as the world knows the author of " Ligeia," 
"The Fall of the House of Usher," "The 
Raven," and " Annabel Lee " was pure in all his 
relations with women. He married the woman he 
loved, and he faced the great sorrow of her death. 
Whatever wrongs Maupassant may have commit- 
ted, he never committed that of wedding a pure 
and devoted woman. Among the women of Paris 
who understood him and who chose to live as he 
lived, he counted, it is said, " his bonnes fortunes 
by the score." Poe's life, as has been said, was 
pure. If he used narcotics we do not know of it, 



72 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

though true it is the suspicion has been enter- 
tained. His one great enemy was alcohol, and 
of it he died. 

Maupassant's sensual enjoyment was restricted 
by a constant fear of death which, Goncourt 
thinks, grew out of an intense love of life. Mau- 
passant's theories of both life and death were 
wholly materialistic. He held that with the last 
breath one ceased to exist. When a man lost 
life he lost everything. He found solitude un- 
endurable. Like Aaron Burr, he was unhappy 
when alone, and preferred almost any company 
to no company at all. He obtained relief in the 
presence of other lives, for the presence of such 
lives seemed to add a measure of stability to his 
own. 

You have the whole of Maupassant's intent 
and purpose in the story he tells, whatever it may 
be. The interest centers always in the story, 
and in the story alone. He introduces no prob- 
lem and suggests no theories. There are few 
preachments. He is to be read solely for the 
story. Since the story is true to life, it conveys 
its own lesson ; but the lesson is always a part of 
the story, and what may be its contents does not 
concern the writer. 

Here again we come upon a point of resem- 
blance between Poe and Maupassant. Poe makes 
himself the hero or principal character in many 
of his tales, and in most of his poems, but you 
do not feel his personality. So far as the story 
goes, he is a mere phantom or abstraction mas- 



MAUPASSANT AND POE 73 

querading in a personal pronoun. In his tales, 
as in those of Maupassant, the interest is in the 
tale itself, and not in any thing it suggests. 
What moral conclusions may come of the nar- 
rative is immaterial to him. 



HUMAN DERELICTS 

Addison, in the Spectator, gives an account of a 
gentleman who determined to live and dress accord- 
ing to the rules of common-sense, and was shut up 
in an asylum for the insane. 

Chaos of thought and passion all confus'd; 
Still by himself abus'd or disabus'd; 
Created half to rise, and half to fall; 
Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all; 
Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl'd; 
The glory, jest, and riddle of the world. 

— Pope. 



HUMAN DERELICTS 

UNUSUAL characters have always greatly in- 
terested me. They possess a peculiar fas- 
cination that I have never been able to under- 
stand. Even the rag-tag and bob-tail army of 
religious tramps and adventurers is not without 
a remarkable attractiveness or allurement. Fa- 
natics are nearly always picturesque, and cer- 
tainly the unique places some of them fill in both 
secular and ecclesiastical history give an added 
interest to their personality, and even invest them 
with a certain charm that may easily blind an 
observer to not a few of their worst faults. 

I have discovered, among other things con- 
nected with the world of eccentric men and 
women, that religious fanatics and impostors 
are, with few exceptions, entirely devoid of that 
helpful and tonic sense of humor which lies at 
the foundation of sound and reasonable thinking 
and feeling. It is sometimes more than sad, it is 
even distressing, to see with what sincerity and 
earnestness these distraught minds toil in the 
construction of air-castles and brood over insolu- 
ble problems ; though true it is that they are often 
found " building better than they know." The 
man who is wholly destitute of the sense of humor 
is to be pitied. The power of seeing the incon- 
gruous and absurd is a power to be most devoutly 
coveted. In seasons of despondency and of 
moral and intellectual unrest, that power has 
77 



78 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

been to me as a firm and enduring rock in the 
midst of a wild and stormy sea. It is, doubtless, 
just because I have in some measure this most 
helpful sense that I find pleasure in studying and 
conversing with the unusual characters which al- 
ways come to the surface in a transitional period, 
and which in this paper I shall briefly discuss. 
I use the word " discuss " in a broad and general 
sense, giving it a very free meaning. What I 
have to say will not be said from any distinctly 
scientific or philosophical vantage-ground, nor 
will it be said with any thought or hope of mend- 
ing matters. If it shall entertain the reader 
and, it may be, incidentally instruct him, the end 
in view in writing this paper will be attained. 

Eccentricity is in many ways closely asso- 
ciated with insanity, and yet the two are not nec- 
essarily the same, and care should be taken to 
prevent the confounding of the one with the other. 
Both are not infrequently the concomitants of 
genius. There are many theories with regard 
to the nature of genius. Helvetius makes that 
special quality to be nothing more than the power 
of continued attention. Buffon called it " pro- 
tracted patience." Still another theory ad- 
vanced by Lombroso represents genius as in it- 
self insanity. He thinks the gifted men and 
women of every age and land are to some ex- 
tent deranged. The folly of such a view must 
be apparent. Lombroso was a greatly over- 
estimated man, many of whose views and opin- 
ions are justly doomed to swift oblivion. No 



HUMAN DERELICTS 79 

theory, explanation, or description of genius is 
adequate; and certainly no endowment that puts 
its possessor in advance of his age, or that is in 
itself of a creative nature, can be catalogued 
among the mental disasters that overthrow 
reason and wreck those characteristics that dis- 
tinguish a man as belonging to our human race. 
Nor can that homely and everyday quality we 
call common sense be regarded as in any way op- 
posed to genius, though the two mental posses- 
sions named are not always, and perhaps not com- 
monly, found in the same person. Everywhere 
men make the average common sense, or what 
they think is the average common sense, of their 
age the measure of intellectual soundness and 
moral uprightness. No doubt they are often 
mistaken, but what other standard can be sug- 
gested? The rare genius must bear the mis- 
understanding and consequent persecution with 
such equanimity as can be commanded. The 
age in which he lives may do him great injustice, 
but posterity must be trusted to recognize his 
worth. 

I call attention to the fact already stated that 
religious fanatics and impostors have little or 
no sense of humor. We laugh at them, but 
they never laugh at themselves, though how they 
at times manage to refrain from doing so is 
something of a mystery. Not one of them has 
the faintest conception of the spectacle pre- 
sented. I suppose the fact that they cannot 
see themselves accounts in some measure for their 



80 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

calmness and sobriety at a time when the rest of 
the world is convulsed with laughter. The sense 
of humor is saving and conservative of reason. 
It holds up before the enthusiast a mirror in 
which he may see, if so inclined, the ridiculous 
exhibition he is himself making. Could zealots 
and castle-builders behold themselves, if but for 
one brief moment, there would be fewer visions 
and revelations, though I am by no means sure 
the sum of human happiness would be increased. 
Ann Lee, Joseph Smith, the Fox sisters, 
Joanna Southcott, and more choice spirits of the 
same variety, never dreamed of the real condition 
of things. Ann Lee took her twitchings very 
seriously. Joseph Smith kept his face straight 
while he told the world about his sacred goggles. 
The Fox sisters never winced. Joanna South- 
cott seems to have been perfectly at her ease 
when she turned her dropsy to so good an ac- 
count. She made more than ten thousand fol- 
lowers wait in the street one dark night, eager 
to hear that she had given birth to the promised 
Messiah. Edward Irving was by no means an 
impostor like the eccentric characters already 
named. He was a good man, and a man of 
education and of fine mind, but he, like all the 
rest of the crew, had the sign-manual of the dis- 
order, — he had no sense of humor. He never 
at any period in his career saw himself. The 
Voices were ridiculous, but he listened to them 
with devout attention. 

Swedenborg was sincere when he wrote his 



HUMAN DERELICTS 81 

" Diary," but what a book it is for a scoffing 
world to read! Could the immortal Swede have 
caught sight of himself, when, urged by re- 
ligious fury, he ran around his own room, 
chased by a thinly clad and lustful angel intent 
upon debauching him, do you think he would 
have been quite so sure of some things as he 
seems to have been? He beheld the angel very 
distinctly, but himself he could not see. Swe- 
denborg was, beyond doubt, a great man. Em- 
erson describes him as " a colossal soul " re- 
quiring " a large focal distance to be seen." 
The New England essayist does not hesitate to 
represent him as " one of the mastodons of 
literature, not to be measured by whole colleges 
of ordinary students." Yet so great a man 
as Swedenborg could write : 

" A married woman desired to possess me, but 
I preferred an unmarried one. She was angry and 
chased me, but I got hold of the one I liked. I was 
with her, and loved her; perhaps it signifies my 
thoughts. 

" A certain devil fancied himself the very devil 
who deceived Adam and Eve, according to the vul- 
gar opinion. ... It was given me to hear Paul 
saying he wished to be his companion, and that they 
would go together and make themselves gods . . . 
but they were rej ected wherever they went. 

" Paul is amongst the worst of the apostles, as 
has been made known to me by large experience. 
The love of self, whereby he was governed before 
he preached the gospel, continued to rule him after- 



82 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

wards; and from that love he had a passion for 
scenes of controversy and tumult. He did all 
things with the end of being greatest in heaven and 
judging the tribes of Israel." 

Swedenborg believed that he saw, conversed 
with, and associated with beings in the spirit- 
world. On every side were angels and ghosts. 
A person walking with Swedenborg along Cheap- 
side in London asked the seer who it was to 
whom he bowed so very low. " That," replied 
Swedenborg, " was Moses." In the street he 
lifted his hat to David, and sometimes to Paul, 
or to one of the Evangelists. All this is to many 
only a source of amusement, but the great 
mystic was serious enough. He saw no incon- 
gruity in his marvelous claims. 

Mary Baker Eddy makes us smile, but the 
smile is wholly ours. We are amused, but she 
is not. Her sublime self-assurance well nigh 
obscures the colossal absurdity of her claims. 
She stands out silhouetted against a back- 
ground of popular incredulity (and, alas! credu- 
lity as well) as the discoverer of a new religion 
which she has called " Christian Science." 

Contemplate John Alexander Dowie, " First 
Apostle and Third Elijah." Grotesque to the 
last degree, and ridiculous in manner, speech, 
doctrine, and personal appearance, he yet gov- 
erned the consciences of hundreds of sincere men 
and women, and retained to the end of his life 
their love and devotion. 



HUMAN DERELICTS 83 

It is strange that these adventurers never 
want for followers. Few prophets have been 
so mean and few revelations so preposterous as 
utterly to fail of awakening enthusiasm. What 
shall be said of the tens of thousands of be- 
lievers ? Were they as wholly devoid of the sense 
of humor as were most of their leaders? Cer- 
tainly there were among them some who had 
keen vision, and the ability to see how humorous 
was the incongruity of the situation. What 
was it, then, that captured such men and women 
as these for adventurers like Joanna Southcott? 
I cannot think it was any one thing alone. 
Peculiar circumstances had much to do with the 
success of Joanna Southcott. Her personality- 
was remarkably attractive to a certain class of 
fanatics. She had marvelous self-assurance. 
Not a doubt ruffled her serenity, or interfered 
in the least degree with her self-complacency. 
A doubt might have dissolved the spell, but she 
voiced no doubt. She declared herself preg- 
nant, and represented that the fruit of her 
womb was to be the Saviour of the world. To 
her dropsical abdomen she pointed with a 
solemnity that, had it not been calculated to 
awaken pity, must surely, it would seem, have 
awakened laughter. Yet what appears to us so 
absurd was at the worst only serio-comic, and re- 
sulted in an even stronger faith. Strange to 
say, certain physicians were for a time deceived 
into a belief that she was really pregnant. It 
may be that some powerful hypnotic suggestion 



84 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

had to do with the persuasiveness of her astonish- 
ing claims. Our fathers had no definite knowl- 
edge of hypnotic influence or control, and it 
is far from strange that they never thought 
of occult and mysterious phenomena as an ex- 
planation of those wonderful forces that defy 
the learning of our modern psychologists. 

Richard Brothers was another enthusiast who 
drew after him a great host of followers. 
Brothers saw visions of very great wonder and 
astonishment, and received a commission from 
Heaven to lead the Jews back to Palestine. He 
styled himself the " Nephew of God," and pro- 
ceeded to publish new Scriptures which he said 
he had obtained from Heaven. After a time 
he found himself in a lunatic asylum, where he 
fell in love with a Miss Cott whom he discovered 
to be " the recorded daughter of both David and 
Solomon," and as well his own destined wife " by 
divine ordinance." While in the asylum he 
had apocalyptic visions without number, and con- 
versed freely with the illustrious dead of all lands 
and ages. What the illustrious dead thought 
of Mr. Brothers during those astonishing inter- 
views is not recorded, but we know what many 
intelligent persons of his own day and country 
thought of him, and we are all the more sur- 
prised to find that there were so many ap- 
parently reasonable men and women who fol- 
lowed in his train. Brothers gained his liberty 
in 1806, and lived until 1824. Up to the last 
day of his disturbed life he continued to teach 



HUMAN DERELICTS 85 

and preach and to exercise his wonderful power 
over the minds of men. And even after he had 
been laid away in the grave his influence lived 
on, and those who had known him in the flesh 
mourned for him when he was gone from them. 
It is recorded that the clergyman who was with 
him in his last moments died not long after 
of a broken heart, and that the physician who 
attended him committed suicide. Southey and 
Coleridge did not like him, but they could not 
put him out of their minds. A stanza in the 
former's " The Devil's Walk " runs thus : 

" As he walk'd into London leisurely, 
The streets were dirty and dim; 

But there he saw Brothers the Prophet, 
And Brothers the Prophet saw him." 

Jacob Bryan is another choice " specimen " 
in my psychological cabinet. Not much is 
known about him, but it is recorded that Wil- 
liam Sharp, the engraver, who was a friend of 
most of the religious " tramps " of his time, and 
who was himself a visionary of the first water, 
found Bryan one morning stretched out on the 
floor between two printing-presses at his office 
in Marylebone Street, London, utterly crushed 
by the weight of the sins of the world which he 
had been helping our Saviour to bear. It was 
while some fine plates were on the press that 
Bryan had a vision in which he was commanded 
of God to proceed at once to Avignon with a 
new disclosure of the Divine Will. And so it 



86 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

came to pass that Sharp not only lost his best 
printer, but had to care for Bryan's family until 
such time as it was the desire of Heaven that the 
said Bryan should return to England. Bryan 
came back, but having received another revela- 
tion, he gave up the trade of printing and be- 
came a dyer. The last we hear of him, he is 
making a profane pun upon the tender and sad 
words of the apostle Paul, " I die daily." 

A very scurvy fellow was Jacob Bryan, and 
yet he had followers who loved and trusted him 
notwithstanding the folly of his claims and the 
tomfooleries of his life. Was he a conscious and 
wilful impostor? I think not. That he was 
rude and vulgar no one can for a moment doubt. 
He was ignorant, loquacious, and lacking in 
reverence. But having no sense of humor, he 
could not see himself, and so it came to pass that 
he was undisturbed by a sight of the hateful 
spectacle which he presented to the vision of his 
fellow men. He thought himself an inspired 
prophet, and all the time he was only a coarse 
harlequin. Bryan, like most religious fanatics, 
was self-centered. He lived, moved, and had his 
being, not in God, in whose service he thought 
himself engaged, but in himself. He fed upon 
his own thoughts, feelings, and desires, and, be- 
ing the rude man he was, he never knew upon 
what mean fare he subsisted. 

What shall be said of "Father" Noyes? 
Perhaps the less said of him the better; and yet 
his name cannot be expunged from the list of 



HUMAN DERELICTS 87 

American fanatics. That man was educated for 
the Gospel ministry at both Yale and Andover 
Theological Seminaries ; he was a Congregational 
clergyman, an author of some ability, and an 
educated lawyer. Notwithstanding all his learn- 
ing, he founded the infamous Oneida Community, 
which, strange to say, flourished in the enlight- 
ened State of New York for forty years. His 
" Confession," printed in William Hepworth 
Dixon's " Spiritual Wives," is certainly most 
interesting material. 

John Humphrey Noyes was born at Brattle- 
boro, Vermont, September 3, 1811. He was 
graduated from Dartmouth College in 1830, and 
from Andover Theological Seminary in 1834. 
He read law at Putney, Vermont, and in 1840 
founded, four miles from Oneida, Madison 
County, in the State of New York, the Oneida 
Community, which in a few years became fa- 
mous because of much that was good and more 
that was bad in its doctrine and practice. That 
for a considerable time the community prospered 
cannot be denied. In the year 1867 there were 
two hundred and fifteen persons in its circle, of 
whom twenty-five were under fourteen years of 
age. The members, both male and female, held 
all property and their own persons in common. 
They ate at a number of tables in one large hall, 
and used neither tea nor coffee, and seldom 
touched animal food. The diet was mostly con- 
fined to vegetables, fruit, milk, butter, cheese, 
cakes, puddings and pies. The menu was cer- 



88 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

tainly excellent. Compare it with the French 
pot ages, poissons, entrees, r Sieves, rotis, entre- 
mets, releves des rotis, and glaces that fill our 
insides with pain, while they distend the doctor's 
pockets with cash. 

Coarse eating makes coarse men, and too 
much animal food is not good for our intellectual 
and spiritual natures. I am persuaded that 
hunting and fishing were once and are still the 
natural occupations and amusements of savage 
people; and it may be that the consuming of 
creatures that have shared with us the same ani- 
mal life is simply a survival from an earlier and 
less civilized period. In man the ages long de- 
parted still live. In many an eye may be 
seen at times the wild light of early forest 
life; in many a handgrasp may be felt the 
clutch of fierce creatures that became ex- 
tinct long ago. Physicians describe what they 
call " arrested development." The quadruped 
by a process of development becomes an ape; 
the ape, according to some of these gentlemen, 
will in time rise to the condition of a savage ; and 
that savage will, after a long period, develop 
into a civilized man. At any place in this long 
process the development may be, for a brief pe- 
riod or for a very much longer one, arrested. 
Sometimes we have an arrest even after human 
conditions have been reached. Not physical 
parts alone, but also dispositions, tastes, and in- 
clinations enter into the development. There are 
men who still retain the ferocity of early tiger- 



HUMAN DERELICTS 89 

or wolf-life in forest and jungle. There are hu- 
man serpents. I think we have, all of us, seen 
and conversed with donkeys. Oriental religions, 
some of them, make the great future a round of 
developments not unlike those of our early racial 
and pre-racial states. The transmigration of 
souls is a doctrine that suggests in many ways 
the development of which we are writing. Ac- 
cording to its teaching, as set forth by an East- 
ern poet, 

" The illustrious souls of great and virtuous men 

In godlike beings shall revive again; 

But base and vicious spirits wind their way 

In scorpions, vultures, sharks, and beasts of prey. 

The fair, the gay, the witty and the brave, 

The fool, the coward, courtier, tyrant, slave, 

Each one in a congenial form shall find 

A proper dwelling for his wandering mind." 

At last the good man, made good through 
many stages of after-death development, arrives 
at the longed-for Nirvana, as set forth in these 
ten lines : — 

" Flown is the bird; 
Empty the cage; 
Nor death nor birth 
To the dull earth 
Confines the soul. 
Nirvana calls; 
The tale is told; 
Forevermore the bird 
Floats free 
In the still air." 



90 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

The Oneida people had a large library and 
subscribed for the leading daily and weekly pa- 
pers. They published a paper of their own 
which they named " The Circular," but it was 
not worth reading. They never employed a 
physician, and, being Perfectionists, they had no 
need for either lawyer or preacher. They wel- 
comed neophytes or new believers to the privileges 
of their community, but there was always an im- 
plied warning : " No preacher need apply." 
The fact is, " Father " Noyes was preacher-in- 
chief, and did all the pulpiteering the members of 
the community could stand up under. The com- 
munity renounced both baptism and the Lord's 
Supper. The Bible was received as the Word of 
God, but its teachings were so interpreted as to 
make them accord with the peculiar views of 
" Father " Noyes. It was held that Christ's sec- 
ond coming and the establishment of his kingdom 
on earth took place within one generation from 
the time of his ministry among men. Their views 
were firmly held. 

The communism of the Oneida Perfectionists 
was founded upon the words of Scripture: 
" The multitude of them that believed were of one 
heart and of one soul ; neither said any of them 
that aught of the things which he possessed was 
his own, but they had all things in common." 
The Oneida Communists were not compromisers 
— they had absolutely all things in common, in- 
cluding husbands and wives. At first Mr. Noyes 
and his wife, who has been described as a very 



HUMAN DERELICTS 91 

beautiful and accomplished woman (her maiden 
name was Harriet A. Holton), signed a compact 
not to live exclusively each for the other. Mr. 
Noyes was married to all the women who had be- 
come believers, and Mrs. Noyes was wife to the 
entire community. There was, to use their 
own words, " entire sexual freedom " in the com- 
munity, subject only to what they called " the 
doctrine of Male Continence " — a doctrine that 
I may be excused from discussing. Whoever 
would study the subject may find interesting ma- 
terial in the " Hand-Book of the Oneida Com- 
munity," published in 1867 at Wallingford, Con- 
necticut, where was situated another communal 
family of like faith and similar methods of life. 

There were few children ; but for so many as the 
community had, there was an attractive nursery ; 
and when the little ones were old enough, they 
attended a school which had been established by 
Mr. Noyes, and wherein they were taught the 
principles of communism and the peculiar doc- 
trines of the Oneida fellowship. Every mother 
was regarded as the mother of all the children in 
the community. Nobody could use tobacco or 
ardent spirits. The women wore short dresses, 
and all men and women followed some department 
of industry. There were among them farmers, 
gardeners, brick-masons, job-printers, bag-mak- 
ers, blacksmiths, and an editor. They preserved 
and sold fruits, vegetables, and jellies. They had 
silk works where they manufactured sewing silk. 
There were among them builders who were able 



92 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

to construct large and modern houses for domes- 
tic and commercial uses. They did a large busi- 
ness in carpentry. There were also a num- 
ber of shoemakers and tailors. They had a 
satchel factory and machine shops. The com- 
munity became very rich, but the theory and 
practice of sexual promiscuity finally wrecked 
the enterprise, and Mr. Noyes had to make good 
his escape into Canada in order to avoid arrest. 
He died at Clifton, Ontario, April 13, 1886, 
aged seventy-five years. 

Life in the Community, apart from the sexual 
feature, had much to recommend it. The vexa- 
tions of housekeeping were all escaped, for the 
burden fell upon no one person. The servant 
question, which is now uppermost in family life, 
did not disturb the communal household. It is 
said that winter evenings in the library were de- 
lightful. Old and young, men and women, and 
the few children connected with the household 
gathered about the large open fire that burned 
with generous warmth upon the hearth. Books 
of all kinds and many papers and magazines were 
to be found upon the library table. In the 
darker corners of the room the older members 
conversed, while the children had their games by 
the fireside or in the large open hall. Stretched 
out upon the home-made rug in front of a blaz- 
ing fire, the old cat slumbered away the peaceful 
hours. The creature was a great pet, and there 
is a story that it came to its death through over- 
feeding at the hands of those who were them- 



HUMAN DERELICTS 93 

selves distinguished for their temperance in both 
eating and drinking. 

Life in the Community, leaving out of view the 
sexual features, was in many ways an improve- 
ment upon our ordinary family life. In the sur- 
rounding world were cruel competitions, every 
kind of rivalry, deception, and a merciless social 
and business warfare. But within the. sacred 
enclosure of the Community none of these evils 
had power to plague the heart of man. Here no 
one lived for self alone. What was of advan- 
tage to one was of advantage to all. Strife for 
place and authority, distress of mind with re- 
gard to financial and other provisions for sick- 
ness and old age, and the bitterness and humilia- 
tion of disappointed ambition, were unknown 
within the charmed circle of the Oneida Com- 
munity. Sometimes of a Sunday evening the 
family would gather around " Father " Noyes 
to hear him read selections from the poets, or re- 
cite interesting stories. There were members of 
the communal circle who could sing, and there 
were others who could play upon various musical 
instruments. Nearly all the younger members 
were in the chorus. Impromptu concerts and 
entertainments were common. 

The life of an organized community is in some 
ways like that of the cloister; the same feelings 
and desires draw men to both. The burdens and 
sorrows of our human state are too heavy for the 
weak and irresolute. Freedom, whether of mind 
or body, is held to be a very precious thing ; men 



94 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

will 'die to secure and preserve it for themselves 
and their children. The Protestant Reformation 
and the American Revolution were both of them 
struggles for freedom ; and the suppression of re- 
bellion in the Southern States half a century ago 
had for its inspiring purpose the emancipation of 
more than four million men who had been de- 
prived of liberty for no crime of any kind, and 
simply because of race and color. But men will 
in many cases part even with freedom if thereby 
they may secure peace of mind and quietness of 
spirit. Freedom is not the greatest, nor is it the 
noblest, thing in the world; truth, honor, and 
character are of larger value. Not infrequently 
escape from responsibility is well worth the sur- 
render of liberty. There can be no doubt that 
the cloisters of the Middle Ages were filled with 
men who, in many cases, sought not so much com- 
munion with God as the longed-for escape from 
personal responsibility and the anxiety of com- 
petitive life in a great world of toil and strife. 
There were, no doubt, in the Oneida Community 
men and women who were there mainly because 
of the freedom from anxiety and contention that 
communal life secured them. 

It has been said by some that the peculiar 
sexual features of Mr. Noyes's community must 
have drawn to the fold evil and worthless per- 
sons. But there is scant evidence that such per- 
sons were present. No one could enter without 
undergoing careful and thorough investigation. 
The social promiscuity that might be sought in 



HUMAN DERELICTS 95 

the Oneida Community could be had with no loss 
of liberty and no sacrifice of property in the out- 
side world. 

One would naturally suppose that communal 
life would be likely to attract the lazy and worth- 
less, men who work only when they must, and then 
as little as may be. But we do not find any large 
number of indolent or self-indulgent men in the 
various societies, whether religious or wholly 
secular, that have flourished and now flourish in 
this and other lands. " How do you manage 
with lazy people? " inquired Mr. Nordhoff, the 
author of a careful work on American communi- 
ties, of a Shaker elder at Mount Lebanon. The 
elder replied: 

" There are no idlers with us. The shiftless fel- 
lows who, as cold weather approaches, take refuge 
in Shaker and other communities, professing a de- 
sire to become members; who come at the beginning 
of winter with empty stomachs and empty trunks, 
and go off with both full as soon as the roses begin 
to bloom, — even these poor creatures succumb to 
the systematic and orderly rules of the place, and 
do their share of work without shirking until the 
mild spring tempts them to freer life." 

There is something in communal life that lays 
hold of man. Of course incorrigible characters 
are occasionally encountered, but in well-nigh 
every community there are definite and well-un- 
derstood methods of getting rid of worthless men 
and of eliminating " false brethren." The men 



96 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

who preside over these communities are not or- 
dinary men. They are peculiarly well qualified 
to guide and direct communal life, and to pre- 
serve such order and good behavior as are essen- 
tial. They are themselves, in most cases, firm be- 
lievers in the doctrines taught or the principles 
to which the community is committed. They are 
men of decided character, determined will, and 
good judgment. They have large knowledge of 
human nature, and cannot easily be deceived. 
They have many of the qualities that go to the 
making of a good general. A considerable num- 
ber of them are shrewd business men. They 
have great tact and marvelously developed re- 
sourcefulness. 

Communal life has a marked tendency to pro- 
long individual life. Healthful and regular 
habits are cultivated. The members eat at reg- 
ular and prescribed times, and there is usually 
plenty of good food, well cooked. The best that 
they themselves produce upon their farms is set 
aside for their own table. Little animal food is 
used, and alcohol and tobacco are avoided. 
They are relieved entirely from care and worry. 
If they happen to be sick, they are well nursed, 
and in old age life is made easy and pleasant. 
Surely such a life must prolong one's years upon 
earth. 

The monastery in the Middle Ages, and at the 
present time as well, furnishes the best example 
we have of the religious community. It was 
not strange that men in periods of great public 



HUMAN DERELICTS 97 

agitation, disaster, and distress, sought shelter 
and repose in religious houses. I am surprised 
that at the present day larger numbers do not 
crowd the inviting cloisters of faith. I should 
expect to see both Greek and Roman sacred shel- 
ters more than full of apprehensive, troubled, 
care-worn souls, seeking rest, hope, guidance, and 
encouragement in the fellowship and under the 
immediate government of the church that com- 
mands their confidence. 

Mr. Alger has said, in his " Genius of Soli- 
tude ": " The majority of men in every age are 
superficial in character and brittle of purpose, 
and lead undedicated lives, swarming together in 
buzzing crowds." These words are surely true, 
and yet even the most frivolous and petty covet 
at times something better. Grief, doubt, anxiety, 
and the consciousness of inward guilt render 
" buzzing crowds," noise, the empty chatter of 
the world, and the companionship of thoughtless 
men and women a burden to the soul and a weari- 
ness of the flesh. Solitude is ardently longed 
for; tranquillity and repose are desired and 
sought. The wholly modern community, whether 
religious or secular, does not furnish the peculiar 
solitude that thoughtful men earnestly desire; 
nor does it provide for a man any real refuge 
from himself. It is the monastery, in whatever 
country or in whatever faith, that has this blessed 
touch of peace found in no other communal home, 
unless our Shaker friends may be said to possess 
it. The closed door of the monastery shuts out 



98 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

the world. In that abode of peace, sacred and 
inviolable associations and usages bring with 
them a sweet and restful sense of repose and 
tranquillity. The presence of others like-minded 
with one's self, holding a common faith, and en- 
gaged in the same religious exercises, cannot but 
restore lost equilibrium, reinvigorate spiritual 
powers, and renew self-control. It is by no 
means strange that women especially, with their 
finer nervous equipment and greater sense of 
spiritual need, fill the sacred houses of their faith. 

" Hark, from yon cloisters, wrapt in gloom pro- 
found, 
The solemn organ peals its midnight sound; 
With holy reverence round their glimmering shrine 
Press the meek nuns, and raise the prayer divine; 
While, pure in thought, as sweet responses rise, 
Each grief subsides, each wild emotion dies." 

No doubt the old-time monastery gave the 
world many a lazy beggar, but it sheltered the 
scholar as well, and nourished the saint. There 
were cruel persecutors behind its impenetrable 
walls, and sometimes there were within its inclos- 
ure the dishonest sons of drunken revelry and dis- 
sipation; but these were not the only men who 
grew up under its influence. We have to-day 
many manuscripts of great value that would have 
been lost had they not been preserved in the ample 
libraries of religious houses during the dark pe- 
riod between the fifth and fifteenth centuries. 
There was often great peace and safety within 



HUMAN DERELICTS 99 

the monastery while in the world prevailed war, 
treachery, bitter hatred, and hostility. Long 
before Cowper lived, many a weary soul enter- 
tained his great wish : 

" O for a lodge in some vast wilderness, 

Some boundless contiguity of shade, 

Where rumor of oppression and deceit, 

Of unsuccessful or successful war, 

Might never reach me more! My ear is pained, 

My soul is sick, with every day's report 

Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled." 

I have in my psychological cabinet still other 
specimens of the human derelict. There is Fred- 
erick Rapp, with his German religious commu- 
nity. He was not a derelict in any contempti- 
ble or evil sense; on the contrary, he was a well- 
meaning and devout man who strove to please 
God and serve his fellow men. But he was a 
dreamer of like dreams with those entertained by 
the other visionaries of whom we are discoursing. 
There was also Robert Dale Owen, with his New 
Harmony; Andrew Jackson Davis, one of the 
fathers of American Spiritualism ; Stephen Pearl 
Andrews, with his Universology ; Symmes and Ins 
Arctic Hole ; the Walworth Jumpers ; and a 
countless multitude of strange advocates of mar- 
velous schemes of religion and philosophy. Place 
any one of the enthusiasts named under the lit- 
erary, philosophical, or scientific microscope, and 
a whole world of interest is revealed. 

I have a friend who is an entomologist, and 



100 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

possesses a collection of gnats worth, I suppose, 
many thousands of dollars. The tiny creatures 
are fastened to little blocks of wood by minute 
pins, and under each of them is written its own 
proper name in the precise and distinct hand of 
the collector. Under each is also placed a de- 
scription of the characteristics and habits of the 
gnat named. Some of the gnats are so small that 
a pin-thrust would destroy the specimen; these 
my friend has pasted securely to little white 
cards. I confess that when I saw for the first 
time that valuable collection, there was awakened 
within me a great desire to have all my psycholog- 
ical specimens as correctly and as systematically 
arranged. But that could not be brought about. 
No one would think of running a pin through 
Andrew Jackson Davis, nor would it be possible 
to paste Madame Blavatsky, with her peculiar 
embonpovnt, to a slip of cardboard. The founder 
of Theosophy is no longer with us in the flesh. 
Her body was incinerated and the Theosophical 
societies of India, England, and the United 
States have taken charge of the cinders. All 
that remains to us of that gigantic humbug is the 
story of her not-over-fragrant life, the books she 
published, and the movement she initiated. It 
is evident that my collection could have only a 
literary arrangement, and so I have neatly 
classified the " specimens " in books, and some 
day, when my executor settles up my estate and 
disposes of the collection, it may be that all the 
" specimens " now in my possession will find their 



HUMAN DERELICTS 101 

way to the Library of Congress at Washington. 
Why not? Several of my finest " specimens " 
were members of Congress. 

Thomas Lake Harris, who wrote " An Epic of 
the Starry Heavens," was and is absolutely 
unique. He was born in England in 1823, and 
came with his father to the United States. Early 
in life he entered the ministry of the Universalist 
church. Later he organized an " Independent 
Christian Society," to which he ministered until 
he became a convert to spiritualism. He lec- 
tured throughout the United States and Eng- 
land ; he established a spiritualistic j ournal ; and 
organized on a farm in Dutchess County, New 
York, a community called the " Brotherhood of 
the New Life." His doctrines were a sort of 
combination of those of Plato, Swedenborg, and 
Fourier. The community was prosperous, and 
at one time had two thousand members. 

Harris was like a great spider. He could en- 
tangle in his web of pretence and sophistry any 
kind of a fly. He caught several human flies of 
large means. He captured and feasted upon 
Laurence Oliphant, and the smacking of his lips 
over the dainty morsel attracted the attention of 
writers on both sides of the Atlantic. Mrs. Oli- 
phant's book gives us only so much of the story 
of the terrible sufferings of Laurence Oliphant 
and his wife and mother at the community as is 
fit to print. The shame and indignity to which 
those refined women were subjected cannot be 
published. Later Harris formed a community in 



102 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

California, but Mrs. Oliphant's book had dealt 
him his death-blow, and ever after his career was 
unimportant. 

Harris was the author of several books, among 
which I name only the one by which he is best 
known, " An Epic of the Starry Heavens." It 
is a poem which he tells us was received from the 
spirit-world. The inspiration took place in the 
presence of witnesses who saw him go into a state 
of trance ; heard him utter at several sittings the 
lines which constitute the poem; and examined 
the manuscript after the lines had been taken 
down by an amanuensis. His witnesses were 
men and women of no standing whatever in lit- 
erary circles, but the book itself is quite out of 
the common order of literary work. The poem 
consists of 6,500 lines dictated at intervals dur- 
ing parts of about fourteen days, which would 
make Mr. Harris deliver nearly 500 lines a day. 
The actual time consumed in its delivery was 
about thirty hours (Mr. S. R. Brittan, who edited 
the poem, says that the time was but twenty- 
six hours and sixteen minutes). During the en- 
trancement Mr. Harris saw and communed with 
Dante and Petrarch, and upon several occasions 
he was caught up into celestial spheres, leaving 
his soulless body on the earth. He gives us in 
Part 2, page 31, these ecstatic lines: 

" A company of spirits, whose white arms 
Are entwined like lilies, float about the deep, 
Their music lulls my spirit into sleep. 



HUMAN DERELICTS 103 

Lo! one most beautiful unveils her form, — 
My thoughts are drawn to her as dewdrops to the 
morn. 

" O rose-lipped seraph, whose celestial charms 
O'ercome my being with a calm divine, — 
Whose heart of love in love inflows through 
mine, — 

Whose eyes are twin-born spheres that blend to- 
gether 
As the sweet ocean and the enamored sky; 

Feeling thy presence dear, I care not whether 
My being to its primal life returns. To die, 

To be diffus'd in love, and made a part 

Of the divinest beauty, which thou art, 
Were better, better far. 

Where is thy home ? in what beguiling star ? " 

Mention should be made of Elizabeth Doten 
("Lizzie Doten"), whose "Poems from the In- 
ner Life " were, it is claimed, dictated to her by 
the spirits of distinguished poets now dwelling 
in the celestial world. Among the bards who 
availed themselves of her mediumistic powers 
were Shakespeare, Burns, and Poe. Elizabeth 
Doten was born at Plymouth, Massachusetts, 
April 1, 1829, and in mid-life was for a number 
of years known as an " inspirational " speaker ; 
later she became an improviser of verses, of which 
she has published several collections. Her book, 
" Poems of the Inner Life," has passed through 
a number of editions. Brief notices of her and 
of her work may be found in Dixon's " Spiritual 



104* FIRESIDE PAPERS 

Wives," and in Appleton's " Cyclopaedia of 
American Biography." She is also mentioned in 
Wallace's " Contributions to the Theory of Nat- 
ural Selection," and in Hodge's " Systematic 
Theology." 

Preposterous as Elizabeth Doten's claims ap- 
pear, I have never questioned her sincerity. 
While preparing this paper for the press there 
was open upon my desk a letter which Miss 
Doten addressed to me a number of years 
ago. I read that letter many times in order to 
catch something of its spirit, and I find in it 
only the evidence of sincerity and of a sweet and 
gentle temper. A few lines from the poem, 
" Words o' Cheer," which she thinks she received 
from the spirit of Robert Burns, will give some 
idea of the kind of work to be found in her 
book: 

" Lo ! Calvin, Knox, andf Luther, cry 
' I have the truth ' — ' and I ' — ' and I ' — 
Puir sinners ! if ye gang agley, 

The de'il will hae ye, 
And then the Lord will stand abeigh, 

And will na save ye! 

"But hoolie, hoolie! Na sae fast; 

When Gabriel shall blaw his blast, 

And Heaven and Earth awa' have passed, 

These lang-syne saints 
Shall find baith de'il and hell at last, 

Mere pious feints. 



HUMAN DERELICTS 105 

" The upright, honest-hearted man, 
Who strives to do the best he can, 
Need never fear the Church's ban, 

Or hell's damnation; 
For God will need na special plan 

For his salvation." 

The poet's theology is hardly that of the New 
Testament, in which something more than good 
behavior and a kindly feeling are called for. 
Burns's real life, of which most of his readers 
know little, was scarcely in accord with the 
Sacred Book named, nor yet with the above lines 
which the author of " Poems from the Inner 
Life " attributes to his ghost. But it is not nec- 
essary to subject a writer's life to microscopic 
inspection in order to enjoy his verses. Burns 
may not have been all his admirers could have 
wished, but nevertheless we delight ourselves in 
his genius, and in the simple and natural beauty 
of his songs and longer poems. There let the 
matter rest. 

" No further seek his merits to disclose, 
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode 

(There they alike in trembling hope repose), 
The bosom of his Father and his God." 

I think the lines quoted from the spirit of 
Robert Burns are among the best of the many 
more or less good lines one may find in Miss 
Doten's remarkable book. Of course a clever 
parody or imitation is no uncommon thing. 
Walt Whitman has been so well imitated that one 



106 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

must look into " Leaves of Grass " to assure him- 
self that the lines are not those of Whitman him- 
self. In " Father Prout's Reliques " the art of 
juggling with the literary work of other men 
reaches a perfection possible only to scholars. 
Was Miss Doten an unconscious plagiarist? 
She may have been ; but I cannot see in her verses 
intentional deception. 

A direct claim of inspiration is made in her 
" Word to the World," which precedes the 
" Poems from the Inner Life." Miss Doten says 
very frankly: 

" I claim both a general and particular inspira- 
tion. They do not, by any means, conflict; and 
what I do not receive from one, comes from the 
other. For the very reason that I have natural 
poetic tendencies, I attract influences of a kindred 
nature; and when I desire it, or they will to do so, 
they cast their characteristic inspirations upon me, 
and I give them utterance according to my ability. 
. . . Several days before inspirations were given I 
would receive intimations of them. Oftentimes, and 
particularly under the influence of Poe, I would 
awake in the night from a deep slumber, and de- 
tached fragments of those poems would be floating 
through my mind, though in a few moments after, 
they would vanish like a dream. I have sometimes 
awakened myself by repeating them aloud. I have 
also been informed by these influences that all their 
poems are as complete and finished in spirit-life as 
they are in this, and the only reason why they can- 
not be repeated again and again is because of the 



HUMAN DERELICTS 107 

difficulty of bringing a human organism always into 
the same state of exaltation, — a state in which me- 
diums readily receive inspiration and render the 
poems with least interference of their own intel- 
lect. 

" Among these spiritual poems will be found two 
purporting to come from Shakespeare. This influ- 
ence seemed to overwhelm and crush me. I was 
afraid, and shrank from it. Only those two poems 
were given, and then the attempt was not repeated. 
I do not think that the poems in themselves come 
up to the productions of his master mind. They 
are only intimations of what might have been if 
he had had a stronger and more effectual instru- 
ment upon which to pour his inspirations. I have 
no doubt that time will yet furnish one upon whom 
his mantle will fall; but I can only say that his 
power was mightier than I could bear. . . . 

" The influence of Burns was pleasant, easy, and 
exhilarating, and left me in a cheerful mood. As a 
spirit, he seemed to be genial and kindly, with a 
clear perception and earnest love of simple truth, 
and at the same time a good-natured contempt for 
all shams, mere forms, and solemn mockeries. This 
was the way in which he impressed me, and I felt 
much more benefited than burdened by his pres- 
ence." 

Of course the inspiration claimed by Miss 
Doten has been claimed by a great host of en- 
thusiasts, among whom may be named Ann Lee, 
Joseph Smith, Joanna Southcott, Richard Broth- 
ers, and Andrew Jackson Davis. Some of these 



108 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

derived their inspiration from spirits that once 
lived upon the earth, and some professed to re- 
ceive it directly from God. 

Jacob Boehme, the German mystic, believed 
himself divinely illuminated, and gifted with an 
understanding of the secrets of both nature and 
grace. Some of his writings are so obscure and 
occult that they are well nigh incomprehensible; 
yet he numbered among his followers many edu- 
cated and some distinguished persons. These all 
sat at the feet of the " philosophical shoemaker 
of Gorlitz," and adopted his most remarkable 
opinions. Boehme obtained his knowledge from 
Heaven by means of visions ; and in his books he 
opens to the reader divine treasures of wisdom 
which he received from God. In presenting this 
wisdom he makes use of chemical terms, thus ren- 
dering the comprehension of his disclosures still 
more difficult. Some of his disciples pronounce 
him incomprehensible to all who are not believers 
in his system. The Rev. William Law under- 
stood him ; but then it must be remembered thai: 
Law was a disciple, an expounder, and even an 
editor of Boehme's works. 

It is interesting to observe the poetical trend 
of a large number of enthusiasts. Even those 
who write in prose not infrequently think in verse. 
There is a constant inclination toward poetical 
terms, figures, symbols, and embellishments. 
Poetry is the natural language of enthusiasm, 
passion, emotion, and imagination; and for that 



HUMAN DERELICTS 109 

reason it is the oldest of all forms of speech. 
When our race was sufficiently developed, it nat- 
urally sought to give expression to its newly ac- 
quired faculties, which were, in truth, those of 
children. The language in which the expression 
found its embodiment was that of impulse, emo- 
tion, passion, and imagination. Reason and 
judgment made comparatively little impression 
upon the vocabulary of the infant world. The 
development of judgment is necessarily associated 
with the recession of imagination ; and the ripen- 
ing of analysis marks the autumn of sentiment 
and the winter of poetry. Poetry was the nat- 
ural language of the infant world, and is still that 
of the infant mind. The poet is forever young. 
It is his mission to preserve for us all and within 
us all youthfulness of mind and heart. The poet 
is the immortal child. Emerson tells us the 
world's " poetry was all written before time was." 
As racial development unfolds, song fails. It is 
then " we hear, through all the varied music a 
ground-tone of conventional life " that tells us 
the age of reason is at hand. Then it is that our 
poets are, as Emerson tells us, " men of talents 
who sing, and not the children of music." What- 
ever reopens the early vision pleases the poet 
within us, and as well the world-poet who sings 
from without, for the vision is always of youth ; 
hence it is, to borrow again the words of Emer- 
son, that " bards love wine, mead, narcotics, 
coffee, tea, opium, the fumes of sandal wood, and 



110 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

tobacco, or whatever other procurers of animal 
exhilaration." Yet these only enable us to imi- 
tate from afar what was once real. 

Insanity is in a certain way a return to child- 
hood. The intellectual faculties most frequently 
interfered with in insanity are such as distinguish 
age from youth. The strongholds of reason 
break and crumble; the fortress of judgment 
falls; and how often over its ruins blossoms the 
wild and luxuriant verdure of emotion and imagi- 
nation. The insane man reverses the process of 
development; he turns his back upon the future 
and retraces his steps. Science tells us that the 
human race started in the mud, and by a process 
of evolution arrived at animal life and intellectual 
consciousness. There was a point in time when 
the little gray nerve-cells first caught the golden 
sunlight, and in the mint of their own conscious- 
ness turned it into the coin of thought; when 
they knew for the first time the color of the violet 
and the odor of the rose as distinct sensations. 
The currents of thought were at first rudimen- 
tary and imperfect; but as the brain strength- 
ened, convoluted, and developed, there came with 
increasing power along the track of the nervous 
system such trains of living thought as an- 
nounced the arrival of the human epoch. The 
vices and virtues, hopes and fears, all point along 
the road of progress to human destiny, which is 
but character in its final and fixed experience; 
these are but milestones along the road over 
which our race has traveled and over which it 



HUMAN DERELICTS 111 

must travel so long as our planet remains habit- 
able. 

The insane man, as we have seen, turns his 
back upon the future, and, retracing his steps, 
descends the stairway of development, and 
through a process of devolution returns to the 
childhood of his race. He may go further, for 
he may sink to the very lowest depths of im- 
becility. He may even enter through the shad- 
owy portals of idiocy into the realm of brute na- 
ture, and have his p'art with Nebuchadnezzar of 
old, who became as a beast of the field. Owing 
to the good offices of civilization, he may not be 
driven from among men to make his abode with 
cattle, and to sleep by night unsheltered beneath 
the stars, his body wet with the dew of heaven, 
his hair long and tangled like an eagle's plumage, 
and his nails like a bird's claw; but the human 
element may be destroyed. He may become to all 
the intents and purposes of life a mere animal, 
well portrayed in the blighting words of a poet : 

" Hog in filth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, 
Dog in madness, lion in prey." 

The insane are, so far as our race is concerned, 
children. The same instinct that long ago 
taught the savage, who is child of the race, to 
cower before the ordinary phenomena of nature, 
and that teaches the infant to shrink from an 
unaccustomed sound, leads the insane to recoil 
from things in no way dangerous or frightful. 
Like children, they live in their senses and are 



112 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

ruled over by imagination. The child lives in an 
ideal world ; so does the savage ; so does the mad- 
man; so also, in a sense, does the poet. To 
these the ideal things, unreal to the practical man 
of affairs, are substantial and near-at-hand. 
These all live in an enchanted world in which the 
critic has no place. The critic, whether he praise 
or blame, is always a disenchanter. 

We learn from Herodotus that Phrynicus pro- 
duced a tragedy on the fall of Miletus ; the citi- 
zens wept until the play was ended, and then 
fined the author for torturing their feelings. 
What audience in England or America ever wept 
through a play and then censured the dramatist 
because of the tragic power and truthfulness of 
the work? I venture to say no such reproof 
was ever administered. We are not children; 
our judgment never so relaxes as to deliver us 
wholly into the hands of imagination. We crit- 
icize a play while it is enacted before us. It 
was not so with our remote ancestors ; they wit- 
nessed a play very much as a child listens to a 
ghost story. 

As knowledge and reason develop, the inven- 
tive arts triumph over the imaginative. The 
same thing was true centuries ago in Greece, — 
the imaginative school of poetry was followed by 
the critical. After Pindar came Sophocles ; after 
Sophocles, Euripides ; and after Euripides, the 
Alexandrine versifiers. Latin and Greek litera- 
tures both illustrate the same great truth, and 
place before us the same invariable succession. 



HUMAN DERELICTS 113 

Homer, Shakespeare, and Goethe are not ex- 
ceptions to the general rule. They are described 
as poets and such they are; but they are, in 
truth, something more: they are the representa- 
tives of our race. Everything pertaining to 
mankind interested those great writers and found 
adequate expression in their work. 

Those who in this age cultivate poetry as an 
art, by that very cultivation destroy in some 
measure its free life and natural beauty. Cul- 
ture implies criticism. In it are elements that, if 
not closely watched and guarded against, war 
upon warmth and youthfulness, which are fac- 
tors inherent in all true poetry. It is to 

" Olympian bards who sung 

Divine ideas below, 
Which always find us young, 

And always keep us so/' 

that we owe the sweetness and spontaneity of life. 
These are the makers of joy through whose eyes 
we behold worlds that never age. By the natural 
instinct of a child's heart they believe in what 
they see and enjoy. No questions are asked. 
Discussion, born of doubt, has neither place nor 
recognition in the world they inhabit, for it is a 
beautiful world, and none the less beautiful be- 
cause unreal. 

Whether we are to include Dr. R. M. Bucke, 
the author of " Cosmic Consciousness," among 
the strange characters of whom we are now treat- 
ing is a question not so easy to answer. Per- 



114 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

sonally he was a man of attractive qualities. He 
was an upright and sincere man, and a most 
loyal friend. The friendship between Walt 
Whitman and Dr. Bucke was one of the beauti- 
ful friendships of temperament and literature. 
But Bucke was, as well, a man of very peculiar 
mental characteristics, and his " Cosmic Con- 
sciousness " details some astonishing experi- 
ences which he explains in a still more as- 
tonishing way. He tells us that cosmic con- 
sciousness is not a mere " expansion of the self- 
conscious mind," but the super-addition of a 
function as distinct from any possessed by the 
average man as self-consciousness is distinct 
from any function possessed by one of the higher 
animals. Dr. Bucke had himself a most remark- 
able experience of this peculiar cosmic conscious- 
ness. That experience he has detailed in his 
book, from which the following paragraph is 
taken : 

" I had spent the evening in a great city with 
two friends, reading and discussing poetry and phi- 
losophy. We parted at midnight. I had a long 
drive in a hansom to my lodging. My mind, 
deeply under the influence of the ideas, images, and 
emotions called up by the reading and talk, was 
calm and peaceful. I was in a state of quiet, al- 
most passive enjoyment, not actually thinking, but 
letting ideas, images, and emotions flow of them- 
selves, as it were, through my mind. All at once, 
without warning of any kind, I found myself 
wrapped in a flame-colored cloud. For an instant 



HUMAN DERELICTS 115 

I thought of fire, — an immense conflagration some- 
where close by in that great city; the next, I knew 
the fire was within myself. Directly afterward 
there came upon me a sense of exultation, of im- 
mense joyousness, accompanied or immediately fol- 
lowed by an intellectual illumination impossible to 
describe. Among other things, I did not merely 
come to believe, but I saw, that the universe is not 
composed of dead matter, but is, on the contrary, 
a living Presence; I became conscious in myself of 
eternal life. It was not a conviction that I would 
have eternal life, but a consciousness that I pos- 
sessed eternal life then; I saw that all men are im- 
mortal; that the cosmic order is such that without 
any peradventure all things work together for the 
good of each and all; that the foundation principle 
of the world, of all the worlds, is what we call love; 
and that the happiness of each and all is in the 
long run absolutely certain. The vision lasted a 
few seconds and was gone; but the memory of it 
and the sense of the reality of what it taught has 
remained during the quarter of a century which has 
since elapsed. I knew that what the vision showed 
was true. I had attained to a point of view from 
which I saw that it must be true. That view, that 
conviction, I may say that consciousness, has never, 
even during periods of the deepest depression, been 
lost." 

Mr. Trine tells us, in his " In Tune with the 
Infinite," that he knew an officer on the police 
force who, while off duty and on his way home in 
the evening, came under the power of an Infinite 
Presence that he could not understand. It was 



116 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

very much like Dr. Bucke's cosmic consciousness. 
While under its influence he could hardly keep to 
the pavement. He was so buoyant and exhila- 
rated by its inflowing tide that he had great diffi- 
culty in avoiding the curious gaze of those who 
were in the street with him. Mr. Trine does not 
call the officer's experience one of cosmic con- 
sciousness, but rather one of harmony with the 
Infinite. Yet the experiences of the officer and 
of Dr. Bucke were in fact one and the same thing. 
Both experiences were of a mystical nature, and 
have been in some measure paralleled by that of 
Benjamin Paul Blood, though Mr. Blood's ex- 
perience was artificial, having been produced by 
the inhalation of ether, as he explained in a 
pamphlet which he published, called " The Anaes- 
thetic Revelation and the Gist of Philosophy." 

Some of the unusual men and women here dis- 
cussed were very interesting characters, and a few 
of them were also useful in their day and genera- 
tion, but, viewed as a class, they were derelicts. 
As such they were a burden and, in some in- 
stances, a menace to the normal men and women 
of their age. What shall we do with human 
derelicts ? When they are able to care for them- 
selves and are satisfied to chase their own shad- 
ows, leaving others to go their way unmolested, 
the question is answered. But when the derelict 
lies directly in the way of sound vessels, imped- 
ing progress or rendering shipwreck a near con- 
tingency, the question is far from answered. An 
American alienist recommended some years ago 



HUMAN DERELICTS 117 

the killing of all weak-minded, incompetent, and 
vicious persons. We deal in that way with mari- 
time derelicts that endanger our ships of com- 
merce and war. We send out a vessel prepared 
to find the floating hulks and sink them. Dr. 
Porter, of Harvard University, said in an address 
on the subject of public charities, reported in the 
New York " Sun " : 

"It is evident that there is not enough money to 
go around. And it is equally desirable to spend 
money on a thing from which we get the most value. 
... It may seem cruel but ... we must concen- 
trate our relief on the most hopeful side of our pop- 
ulation and allow the rest to go the way of nature. 
. . . The whole question is one of economy. It is 
a mistaken idea to believe that everything depends 
on charity for the old and not on prevention for the 
young. Charity means that those who receive it 
give up hope. Charity is the gravest psychological 
factor in the life of the poor. It is an official stigma. 
Instead of organizations for charity there should be 
a citizens' union for preventing charity. When a 
person gets to that point where he is physically 
unfit to live, the most economical thing for a com- 
munity is not to give him relief." 

Well, that is a comparatively easy way of dis- 
posing of the broken-down and broken-hearted 
men and women who obstruct the way. It is 
what the Sacred Book calls " Going by on the 
other side." The other side is always the easy 
side. Let the derelict hulk be abandoned — no, 
not that, let it be at once and wholly demolished. 



118 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

Newer and stauncher vessels have the right-of- 
way. All very good, — but there seem to be cer- 
tain objections to Dr. Porter's recommendation. 
He loses sight of the important fact that we are 
civilized, and that as civilized men and women we 
are more or less under the control of an enlight- 
ened sympathy. The loveless man is the worst of 
all derelicts. To treat the human derelict as one 
would treat the maritime derelict is to treat men 
and things in the same way. No, Dr. Porter, 
your system may be, for anything we know to the 
contrary, on a level with your sympathy and will- 
ingness to help the under dog, but we cannot 
abandon nor can we sink the human derelicts. 
There lived nearly two thousand years ago One 
after whom we name our era and our civilization, 
and whom we love, — One who taught the world a 
very different doctrine, and who said, " Inasmuch 
as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, 
my brethren, ye have done it unto me." 

John Fiske states in a footnote to his de- 
lightful book on w The Discovery of America," 
that when he was superintending the cataloguing 
of Harvard University Library he made a class 
for books which he called " Eccentric Literature," 
under which name he grouped a large number of 
foolish works which disputed the roundness of the 
earth and indulged in other vagaries of the kind. 
Among such books he placed " The New Manual 
of Biblical Cosmography," a book published so 
late as 1877, and " The Truth-Seeker's Oracle 
and Scriptural Science Review," and more of the 



HUMAN DERELICTS 119 

sort. Strange indeed are some of these books. 
They are more or less foolish, but they are not 
all of them wholly devoid of interest. Such books 
and men will increase in number as our civiliza- 
tion ripens and decays. But we cannot lose sight 
of the fact that there have been among the men 
and women we call human derelicts some of the 
brightest minds our race has ever known. To a 
few of these we owe much. Tolstoy was of their 
number, and so also was the philanthropist, John 
Howard. 

Cranks are not always unappreciated. There 
are other cranks who approve and encourage men 
like unto themselves. There were in Brittany 
not so very long ago those who believed, as did 
the ancients, that the insane were inspired and 
that epileptics were in close fellowship with the 
unseen world. Captain King said that he saw in 
Brittany persons who looked with great regard 
upon idiots, and who actually requested the 
prayers of those idiots, believing the prayer of a 
fool to be peculiarly acceptable to God. In 
India, even now, the insane are held in great 
reverence. 

Perhaps it is, after all, an open question, what 
we are to understand by a derelict. If fools are 
wise men, does it not follow that our wise men are 
fools ? And if such they are, our world must be 
a foolish world indeed. And yet not all fools are 
wholly devoid of sense. The best of Edward 
Rowland Sill's poems is, beyond doubt, " The 
Fool's Prayer." The mind of that poor fool was 



120 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

not in every way distraught, for he understood 
all too well his own humiliation. Sill's fool was 
a court fool. He was more than anything else a 
jester, — a man of "cap and bells." But he 
could pray a prayer that hushed the room into 
silence, and that so opened the king's eyes that 
he saw what he had never seen before, — that he 
also was a fool. Many simpletons have worn 
crowns and possessed thrones. But better so 
than that those crowns and thrones should have 
fallen to such monsters of cruelty as have some- 
times possessed them. Better were it for Ger- 
many that some fool with a child's trinket for 
scepter were upon her throne than that a man 
like William II, the scourge of his country and 
of the world, and the remorseless murderer of 
millions of men much better than himself, should 
fill, as he does, a station so exalted, and 

" Play such fantastic tricks before high Heaven 
As make the angels weep." 

He, too, is, notwithstanding all his wickedness, if 
not a fool, at least a derelict, for wickedness is 
only a worse kind of folly. 



VI 

MINOR POETS 

Those gentler voices float across the centuries to 
cheer and encourage the human heart. We listen 
to the peaceful, tender, and reassuring tones, and 
are refreshed. They are not like the commanding 
and dominating world-singers that with power and 
authority stir the pulses of men and lead the na- 
tions forth to battle. Very gentle are the minor 
poets; they fill our hearts with tranquillity and 
guide our willing feet in the path of peace ; yet have 
they a noble dignity that everywhere and always 
commands respect. 

— Cirederf Nivram. 

If thou indeed derive thy light from heaven, 
Then, in the measure of that heaven-born light, 
Shine, poet, in thy place, and be content! 

— Wordsworth. 



MINOR POETS 

TWO dissimilar events occurred about the 
same time, — Barrie, the author and play- 
wright, was made a baronet, and Austin, who fol- 
lowed Tennyson in the office of poet laureate, 
died at his beautiful home in Swinford after 
seventeen years of official glory and mental com- 
monplace. They buried the poet with honor, and 
his name will be transmitted to posterity. Few 
will read his verses, and yet, because for a season 
he occupied the seat of Wordsworth and Tenny- 
son, English literature will celebrate his work and 
record his glory long after more gifted but less 
distinguished singers shall have passed from our 
remembrance. Shadwell, Tate, Rowe, and Pye 
were, all of them, laureled verse-makers to one 
ma j esty or another ; and though now no man can 
be found so dull as willingly to con their cob- 
webbed pages, their names will still be cherished 
because for a brief season they sipped inspira- 
tion or something more to the point from the 
traditional butt of Malmsey, and because they 
belonged officially in the charmed circle that in- 
closed the author of " In Memoriam." 

" A little Latin and mathematics will do very 
well," said Napoleon; but Frederick the Great 
was of another mind : bringing down his fist with 
force upon the table, he exclaimed : " My son 
shall not learn Latin; and, more than that, I 
will not suffer anybody even to mention such a 
123 



l&fc FIRESIDE PAPERS 

thing to me." There you have it, — you can 
take your choice. Whitehead had much Latin 
and but little inspiration. The old masters of 
English song were, all of them, Latinists, partly 
because the English of long ago was not so com- 
pletely or so well formed as it is to-day, and 
partly because at that early time no man was ac- 
counted well educated who had " small Latin and 
less Greek." The old writers were full of both 
languages, and (sorry I am to say it) that is one 
reason their lines are so dull and obscure to the 
"uncrowned sovereigns" and j ingledy- j ingledy 
poets of our present time. 

Austin was a college man. He was graduated 
from the University of London. He had in view 
a barrister's life, and to that end much of his 
education tended. But, as good old Thomas a, 
Kempis has it, " Man proposes while God dis- 
poses," and so it came to pass that Alfred Aus- 
tin never practiced, but at eighteen published his 
first poem. From that time on he gave the world 
many books, some of which are interesting, and 
none of which are worthy of the laureateship he 
filled so respectably and with so little inspiration. 
Some of his best verses are in " English Lyrics." 
The book came out under the editorial care of 
William Watson, but after Mr. Watson wrote 
" The Woman with the Serpent's Tongue " the 
reading world lost confidence in his judgment. 
And yet Austin was surely deserving of a portion 
of the praise bestowed upon him. It by no means 
follows that because a poem or a picture is not 



MINOR POETS 125 

an achievement of the highest order of genius, 
it is therefore worthless. Few in any age or land 
stand upon the summit, and it is by no means 
certain that those who do stand there create for 
our world the largest satisfaction or the truest 
pleasure. 

When Will Carleton died there came to thou- 
sands of plain men and women all over this and 
other lands a deep sense of personal loss. 
No one ever thought him the possessor of great 
genius, but he was a true poet, and every- 
where he was recognized as such. Plain farmers, 
with but little knowledge of books, when they 
heard of Carleton's death read again " Betsy 
and I Are Out," and found it had not lost for 
them its early charm. Thousands of men and 
women who never read a line of Milton have the 
" Farm Ballads " near at hand ; and, what is 
more, they hold their hearts wide open to the 
homely allurement of lines that record so well 
the annals of the poor. It has been said of the 
minor poet that he " plays upon the one string 
of our common humanity " ; that was true of 
Carleton. The everyday troubles and joys of 
our common human life were the materials out 
of which he made all those artless and un- 
adorned, yet charming, pictures of rural life. 
Carleton was himself very like his own verses. 
He had a large and sympathetic heart. He was 
instinctively kind and generous. He was out- 
spoken, and had a straightforward and manly 
way of looking at things. I have passed with 



126 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

him many a happy hour of frank and unguarded 
fellowship, and I am unable to recall one bitter 
word or an uncharitable surmise concerning 
friend or foe. He was very entertaining; rarely 
was he without a good story; he was quick- 
witted ; and never was he slow to see the ludicrous 
or incongruous side of things. 

Carleton, unlike Austin, was a conservative 
only in those social and domestic circles and 
scenes of which he wrote; in all public and na- 
tional affairs his sympathy was very largely with 
the other side. Carleton was a democrat and be- 
lieved in popular government. He saw nothing 
absurd in an administration and common- 
wealth guided and directed by the wisdom of 
Tom, Dick, and Harry. Austin's sympathies 
were with the aristocracy and landed inter- 
ests. To the best of his poor ability he sang 
of England's greatness on land and sea. He 
was at the time of his appointment the only pos- 
sible selection. Other poets were living, but 
none of them were even remotely available. The 
author of " Atalanta in Calydon " could not be 
for a single moment thought of in connection with 
an office inherently conservative and closely con- 
nected with national ideals and traditions. The 
old Puritanism, still strong in England, could 
never have adopted the author of " Faustine " 
and " Dolores." Morris, it is true, had writ- 
ten " The Earthly Paradise," but he was a 
Socialist. Kipling's " Recessional " was even 
better than good, but alone it was hardly suf- 



MINOR POETS 127 

ficient for the making of a poet laureate; and 
then there were the old " Barrack-Room Bal- 
lads," not quite in keeping with the dignity of a 
place once filled by Wordsworth and Tennyson. 
Still further, the author of those " Ballads " had 
called Her Majesty Queen Victoria " the 
Widow." No disrespect was felt or intended, 
but still there was involved an important matter 
of taste. The royal person and name are sacred, 
and may not be handled without reverence and 
something like a sense of awe. Perhaps it would 
have been no more distasteful to Her Majesty 
had he called her " the Old Woman." She was 
at the time both a widow and an old woman, but 
what of that? Truth will often make a matter 
worse. The thing that Kipling should have re- 
membered was that she was the queen and an 
empress. Men wriggle and squirm when Use 
majeste appears upon the horizon; they resent 
the circumspection required in the presence of 
royalty; but without external observances it is 
hard to see how there could be maintained any- 
thing like strong and abiding authority. A 
rowdy government would be no government what- 
ever. It may have been, though I do not know 
that it was so, that that slip of the pen, " the 
Widow," cost Kipling more than most men have 
stopped to consider. Austin, the commonplace 
proser whom no one ever thinks of as very much 
of a poet, was nevertheless a courtly gentleman 
of the old school, who had respect for authority, 
and so it came to pass that, authority being the 



128 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

arbitrator, he was invited to a seat with the gods 
on Olympian heights. Why should there have 
been another poet laureate? The court fool with 
his cap and bells is now no more, and will never 
again make an appearance among the living; is 
it not time the court poet as well should find his 
way to rest and oblivion? 

Yet men do not so think, for England has 
made choice of Dr. Bridges, who is now her poet 
laureate. He, too, is a courtly gentleman of the 
old school, full of good Latin and even better 
Greek, with a sincere love for the England of 
other days. He will give the world few great 
poems, but we shall be spared the sluggish dull- 
ness of Austin. The minor poet (and both 
Austin and Bridges must be accounted mem- 
bers of that great brotherhood) is by no 
means a contemptible figure in literature. His 
gifts are not of the first order, nor yet of the 
second, but they are, nevertheless, gifts. 

The " Farm Ballads " are not to be named 
among the brilliant results of supreme inspira- 
tion, nor, for that matter, is the " Fable for 
Critics," though both compositions are real 
poetry of widely sundered kinds. Still, Carleton 
and Lowell are not to be placed in the same 
class, for the latter wrote as well " The Vision 
of Sir Launfal " and certain other poems that the 
former could never have written had he given his 
whole life to the work. Viewed from an artistic 
standpoint, the poems of Carleton are of no 
great value, and yet they have cheered and will 



MINOR POETS 129 

continue to cheer and comfort common men and 
women. They have a homely beauty all their 
own that the dainty maker of elegant and choice 
lines might well covet. 

Elizabeth Akers Allen would hardly be called 
a poet, viewed from an artistic standpoint; and 
yet many a year will go by before the world has 
forgotten some of those short poems that render 
her name dear to thousands of plain men and 
women in all parts of our land. " Annie 
Laurie " lives on and will continue to live, though 
not one in a hundred of those who derive pleas- 
ure from the song remember that William Doug- 
las was its author. Who was William Douglas? 
Not often will you find his name in a biographical 
dictionary, nor, indeed, will you often find it in 
any list of poets. Yet the whole world has been 
made happier by his brief and obscure life. 
Payne is called a poet because we do not know 
how else to describe him. He wrote " Home, 
Sweet Home," and for that one poem, sometimes 
set forth as " immortal doggerel," his dust was 
brought with reverence and something of love 
across the sea and given a resting place in the 
land of his nativity. 

No, the minor poet is not to be despised. The 
buttercup is not a rose, but it nevertheless adds 
beauty to the wayside and a loveliness to the 
meadow. One would much rather be an " Ameri- 
can Beauty," but it is something to be a butter- 
cup, a daisy, or even a yellow dandelion. The 
fields are everybody's garden. God cultivates 



130 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

them for the great world, and whoever will may 
gather from them so much of fragrance and 
beauty as he cares to enjoy. 

The trouble with our minor poets is that there 
are so many of them. Were there fewer daisies, 
buttercups, and dandelions in our fields and by 
the road, we should admire and enjoy them more. 
Florists would then cultivate their little rings of 
yellow gold, and would sell them in graceful clus- 
ters at, it may be, extravagant prices. Were 
the humbler bards in the meadows of literature 
not quite so common, we should, no doubt, prize 
them more. The publishers would then find them 
more interesting and profitable, and great 
libraries would give them more distinguished 
places in accessible alcoves. There are too many 
of them for their own good. Of course some of 
the best things are the most common. Light, 
air, and water are free to all, and without these, 
so abundant and so essential, there could be no 
life upon our planet. Still we do not easily 
value the thing that costs little in toil or money. 
All common things, and common men, are at a 
discount. We want the unusual possessions, 
difficult to obtain, and so it comes to pass that a 
vast world of beauty goes unrecognized and un- 
enjoyed. 

Unlike other libraries, the Grosvenor Library 
at Buffalo, New York, has accumulated an ex- 
tensive collection of books of verse, all of which 
are in the English language. In that collection 
there were some time ago 3,542 printed volumes 



MINOR POETS 131 

and 296 pamphlets; there must now be a much 
larger number, most of them, of course, being 
the work of what we call minor poets. There is 
place enough for one such collection, and there 
may be in all the land a considerable number who 
care to consult it; but surely there could not be 
a call for many collections of the kind, even were 
poetry more pleasing to the common people than 
it is at the present time. A large percentage of 
the books and pamphlets in the collection are not 
worth the printing, but there is, of course, a 
residuum that goes far toward making the ac- 
cumulation of real value. 

There are many books upon those shelves 
written by poets wholly unknown to fame; 
and yet some of them contain poems of rare 
beauty. It is a mistake to say that merit alone 
will always secure for its possessor a hearing. 
It will often secure for him nothing of the kind, 
no matter how great may be the merit. The 
mere pretender can often blow a louder blast 
upon the trumpet of his self-appreciation than 
the writer of real worth could sound were he to 
give undivided attention to self-exploitation for 
many years. Commonplace men are often unre- 
strained by a sense of shame, while men of genius, 
aiming high, are not infrequently humiliated by 
failures wholly invisible to the eye of dull 
and vulgar vanity. It is the loud blast that 
rivets attention and challenges admiration. 
Blaze and detonation win popular applause. 
Often it is true that the more commonplace a 



132 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

man is, the more attentively he will be lis- 
tened to, and the more he will gratify the rude 
and uncultivated. The savages in Africa de- 
mand a " big noise " ; savages in New York and 
other American cities demand noise of the same 
kind. Not a few of our most successful jour- 
nals are mostly headlines. 

It does not follow that because publishers are 
glad to print certain books, those books are 
worth printing ; nor does it follow that because 
a man cannot find a publisher, his book is of no 
value. The editor is often as vulgar as his sub- 
scriber, and the publisher is sometimes too igno- 
rant to know whether a book is of value or is 
wholly worthless. This world itself is at best 
a very vulgar world. 

There is a general feeling that the work of a 
minor poet must be at best only fair ; but it is a 
veritable fact that the minor poet may be even 
a great poet. He may have written but one or 
two poems, and his inferiority may be a matter 
of quantity and not of quality. O'Hara's 
" Bivouac of the Dead," Randall's " Maryland," 
and Finch's " The Blue and the Gray " are works 
of genius of no mean order. But the three au- 
thors named never did any other work in verse 
worth remembering, unless we make an exception 
in O'Hara's case, for his " Daniel Boone " is cer- 
tainly not bad. Had any one of the three 
written ten or even eight poems of any length 
equal to the one poem by which he is known and 



MINOR POETS 133 

which we have named, it may be he would have 
found his place among the more honored sons of 
genius whose works are praised and treasured by 
all who take pleasure in good verse. 

How many of my readers know anything 
about Walter R. Benjamin, who has for more 
than a quarter of a century sold autographs in 
the city of New York? He does not call himself 
a poet, nor does any one of the hundreds of his 
customers ever think of him as in any wise in- 
spired. A few of his verses (some of them good 
and more of them of no real worth) have found 
their way into " The Collector," a paper which 
he publishes, and in which he catalogues the let- 
ters and manuscripts he desires to sell. He is 
a delightful companion, but there is nothing in his 
presence, or in the many verses he has printed, 
that leads you to suspect him of being one of the 
gifted few. You happen to know that his father, 
Park Benjamin, was once accounted a poet of 
ability, but father and son are not the same 
person. Well, the man who wrote " The 
Drums ! " which appeared in the " The Collec- 
tor," is to the extent of that one piece a true son 
of inspiration; a minor poet, but a real poet 
nevertheless. Should he write eight or ten poems 
of equal excellence (and he is not too old to 
write them), it may be that we should no longer 
use the word minor in describing him and his 
work. The chance, however, it must be admitted, 
is very much against his writing even one other 



134 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

poem so good as the one named. The chance of 
any man's writing a superior poem is seldom 
great. 

It would not be just to Mr. Benjamin, after 
all that has been said, nor would it be just to 
my readers who have had, it may be, their curi- 
osity excited, should I fail of placing before 
them the poem to which attention has been called. 
Here it is from a copy he was himself so good as 
to send me: 

THE DRUMS! 

" The drums ! The drums ! There is music in the 

beating of the drums ! 
The heart grows gay and lighter as the brass band 

onward comes. 
One falls in step and takes a stride, 
And with the band walks on in pride, 
And banging, crashing at his side, 

The drums, the drums, the busy, busy drums, 
The drums, the drums, the rattling, battling 

drums, 
The drums, the drums, the merry, merry drums, 
How they set the blood a-tingling as the brass band 
onward comes ! 

" I take no j oy in drumming, — yet I have a broken 

drum 
That is laid away securely in a sacred place at 

home. 
My lost boy held it when he died. 
Had they but seen it by his side 



MINOR POETS 135 

I know the very drums had cried, 

The weeping and the wailing of the drums, 
The moaning and the groaning of the drums, 
The sobbing and the sighing of the drums, 

How they set the blood a-tingling as the craped flag 
onward comes! 

" Oh, when I hear their dirges, I can but think with 

pain 
That never more his little hand will strike that drum 

again. 
Perhaps in that far distant land 
He marches in an angel band. 
Perhaps they echo to his hand, 

The drums, the drums, the golden, golden drums, 

The drums, the drums, the sweet, celestial drums, 

The drums, the drums, the corps of heavenly 

drums, 

How they set the blood a-tingling as the bright band 

onward comes! 

" When my sojourn on earth is o'er and my last hour 

is come, 
I'll listen in the future world for music of his drum. 
My little boy will welcome me; 
His laughing face once more I'll see. 
How sweet will then their music be! 

The drums, the drums, the great eternal drums ! 
The drums, the drums, the grand, supernal 

drums ! 
The drums, the drums, Jehovah's mighty drums! 
How the soul will sing in glory when that happy 
moment comes." 



136 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

Not one critic in a hundred distributes com- 
mendation and censure with impartiality. The 
reviewer too often confines his investigations to 
the Table of Contents, or if by chance he pro- 
ceeds further, the reader will get little more than 
two or three of his hastily formed impressions. 
My publisher usually prints, with whatever book 
he brings out, a circular somewhat descriptive of 
the work, and calculated to create for it a favor- 
able impression. A copy of the circular gen- 
erally goes with each copy of the book. The 
circular is not intended for the reviewer but for 
the general reader. I have been greatly inter- 
ested and amused by observing how faithfully 
many of the so-called reviewers and penny-a- 
liners save themselves trouble by copying as their 
own the material my publisher provided for the 
reading public in his circular. All the while the 
unsuspecting multitude of simple-hearted men 
and women believe they are getting the serious 
opinion of a competent and faithful reviewer. 
A bright publisher in the " wild and woolly 
West," where " everything goes," stated in his 
somewhat flamboyant circular that the book he 
was printing was " off-color " and should not be 
too generously distributed in seminaries for the 
education of young ladies and in other places of 
the kind. It so happened that the book was of 
an irreproachable character. But the writers of 
the book notices in papers far and near made 
their usual levy upon the aforesaid circular, and 



MINOR POETS 137 

so it came to pass that the sale of the book was 
a thing to envy. 

I cannot think that our professional critics 
are, most of them, qualified to take the measure 
of the minor poets. They judge them by ex- 
ceptional standards. From the critic's point of 
view there are no minor poets, for no one is a 
a poet, in any sense of the word, who suffers by 
comparison with Homer, Shakespeare, Milton, or 
Dante. They would not themselves like to be 
measured as critics by any such standard of 
ideal excellence. The Golden Rule, which is also 
a rule of common sense and good feeling, does not 
seem to them to have very much value apart from 
morals and religion. No man is to be judged by 
his fellow men, however he may be judged by his 
Creator, from any criterion of unusual excel- 
lence. Why should Carleton be compared with 
Milton? Why should Riley be measured by 
Dante? Our critics will deny that they apply 
such standards, but nevertheless they do apply 
them with remorseless rigor in very many cases. 
I will not say that they always know they ap- 
ply them, nor yet that they would themselves 
justify such application; but you cannot read a 
brief paragraph in any serious review of a popu- 
lar but commonplace poet without feeling the im- 
plied if not outspoken depreciation of the writer 
upon the sole ground that he is not a star of the 
first magnitude. That the writer thus dealt with 
is displeased goes without saying, but the critic's 



138 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

scarcely concealed contempt for those who read 
that writer's lines and like them is offensive to a 
still larger circle. Added to all this there is a 
lack of fair play about it that we instinctively 
resent. We do not believe the critic is himself 
so superior to the rest of us that he is justified 
in patronizing us and in patting upon the back 
our household gods. Matthew Arnold could 
never write about the middle class in England 
without in one way or another insinuating that 
its members were well-nigh all of them ignorant 
and narrow-minded. I have often wondered how 
one man could contain so much old-fashioned 
British conceit; and still more have I wondered 
how a man of Arnold's knowledge and training 
could fail of seeing that his own implications were 
those of a narrow Philistine. The larger the 
man, the more charitable will be his estimate of 
his fellow men. It is just there that our critics 
fail. Their lack is that of breadth and catholic- 
ity of mind. 

It is sometimes represented that Keats died 
of a broken heart, and that the fatal fracture 
was occasioned by the sledge-hammer strokes of 
a critic who, being of a brutal nature, used his 
pen somewhat as a thug in India would use a 
club. Well, no doubt, the poet, being peculiarly 
sensitive, suffered in his mind because of certain 
rude and foolish things said of his literary work 
by a narrow and foolish reviewer; but the real 
cause of Keats's death, if we eliminate all senti- 
ment, was nothing more than plain pulmonary 



MINOR POETS 139 

consumption. The physicians of to-day would 
call it " phthisis." It is of little consequence 
what most of the critics think of any author or 
of any of his books. Keats lived at a time when 
those who made a profession of reviewing were 
believed in and greatly honored; and it is in no 
wise strange that he shared the common super- 
stition of his day, and reverenced the recognized 
critic far beyond that always irritable and often 
unjust gentleman's actual desert. 

Now we know how very human are the literary 
fault-finders of the various papers and maga- 
zines; and their opinions (if opinions they really 
are) carry with them little or no weight. As has 
been said, not a few of the men who write short 
book notices seldom read a line in the book they 
praise or condemn. Some of them do not even 
open the book, but, having derived an opinion 
from an inspection of the cover, they straight- 
way sell the volume to an ever-ready book-dealer 
who knows at least the commercial value of the 
material he handles. Some of the so-called re- 
viewers makte even more generous use of the vari- 
ous press-notices and descriptive matter issued 
by the publisher than we have stated ; all of which 
amounts to the publisher's reviewing his own 
output. And this is by no means the short- 
coming of country journals only; some of the 
largest city papers save brain and time by using 
material that the publishers are only too willing 
to provide. When you read in a periodical that 
Miss Lily Daffodil's new novel is " the most 



140 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

brilliant and absorbing piece of fiction," you 
think you are reading the opinion of a competent 
reviewer based upon careful examination of the 
book, but you are really absorbing nothing but 
the fulsome advertisement of a publisher who has 
the book to sell, and who got the above adver- 
tisement in exchange for a copy of the novel 
sent to the periodical for review. 

When I was a youth preparing for college, 
Walt Whitman and Swinburne made their ap- 
pearance in the literary world. Both writers 
were denounced by the very papers that now 
laud them to the skies. Whitman was ridiculed, 
derided, laughed at, and insulted. Not one pa- 
per in a thousand could see anything good in 
" Leaves of Grass." Now the periodicals that 
laughed at him are the loudest in his praise. 
Have they changed their minds with regard to his 
work? Not at all; most of them had no mind 
upon the matter to change. They derided him 
when it was fashionable so to do, and when the 
fashion changed, they changed with it. Well, 
what did it all amount to? Nothing at all. 
Whitman knew, or thought he knew, the value 
of his work; he certainly knew how fickle is 
the popular mind; and, furthermore, he knew 
how little importance attaches to an ordinary 
book-review. Knowing all these things, he took 
the ill-treatment he received with the quiet con- 
tempt and indifference it deserved. He con- 
tinued his literary output, and waited for the 
tide to turn. In due time it did turn, and now 



MINOR POETS 141 

the old reviewers cannot be made to remember 
that once they reviled the man they praise. 
He refused to die of a broken heart, of phthisis, 
or of anything else, and lived out the full term 
of his years. The critics went their way, and 
Whitman went his, and at last it all came to the 
same thing. The writer who breaks his heart 
over adverse criticism is foolish indeed. 

We are sometimes asked in a conspicuous ad- 
vertisement to purchase a certain book simply 
because it is not worth purchasing. The book 
is announced as the work of a peasant, a rustic, 
a workman, a man of no education, or a little 
child. We read that Anne Yearsley, the Bristol 
milk-maid, has appeared in print ; that the David- 
son sisters, both of them untrained children, have 
given the world what they and their publishers 
are pleased to call poems; that a little girl yet 
in her early teens and short frocks has blossomed 
into verse; or that a lad in the high school has 
published one of his compositions. Mrs. He- 
mans, when a child, published a book of verses 
having little beauty and no worth. I have in 
my library " Poems by Felicia Dorothea 
Browne" (Mrs. Hemans's maiden name), in the 
preface of which an indulgent public learns that 
" the following pieces are the genuine produc- 
tions of a young lady between the ages of eight 
and thirteen years." The " pieces," as they are 
called, are trivial, commonplace, and jejune, 
and could never have seen the light but for the 
foolish generosity of the Right Honourable Vis- 



lm FIRESIDE PAPERS 

countess Kirkwall. The authoress lived to be- 
come a distinguished poet, but she never re- 
printed a line of the book once so bravely ex- 
ploited. I have in her autograph a letter ad- 
dressed by her in mid-life to her publisher, re- 
buking him for seeking to reprint for mercenary 
ends those " pieces," regardless of her later 
judgment. 

Green apples may interest the pomologist who 
gives himself to a lifelong study of fruit from 
seed to ripeness, but one does not care to feed 
upon green pippins. Some years ago a book of 
verses was announced as the work of a village 
cobbler. I will not say that such a man might 
not produce a reasonably attractive book. Sam- 
uel Drew, a maker of shoes, once interested the 
English world in his " The Immateriality and 
Immortality of the Soul." Robert Bloomfield, 
who wrote " The Farmer's Boy," and Kitto, the 
Biblical scholar, were both of them shoemakers. 
But not many of the followers of St. Crispin 
have come to such exalted places in the world 
of letters, notwithstanding all that Mr. Winks 
has said about " the achievements of illustrious 
shoemakers." 

Southey was a very moderate poet, if, indeed, 
it be lawful to call him any kind of a poet; and 
yet that most generous of men, Sir Walter Scott, 
thought " Madoc " and " Thalaba " the work of 
a great genius, and all the while he feared that 
his own poems were wholly without value. 
James Ballantyne once asked Scott's little 



MINOR POETS 143 

daughter if she liked " The Lady of the Lake." 
She answered with a child's simplicity that she 
had not read it because " Papa says there is noth- 
ing so bad for young people as reading bad 
poetry." But other poets than Scott over- 
valued the good, but insufferably dull, Southey. 
Think of Lamb's letter to Coleridge, in which 
the delightful Elia wrote, " On the whole, I think 
Southey will one day rival Milton; I already 
deem him equal to Cowper, and superior to all 
living poets besides." But dear old Lamb was 
not himself very much of a poet. He knew 
more about roast pig, of which he wrote su- 
perbly, than about " Bob " Southey, as Byron 
irreverently called the English laureate. 

Scott was a very modest man. The more 
thought he gave to his own productions, the 
poorer the display they made before his own 
eyes. The verses of Joanna Baillie seemed to 
him so radiantly beautiful that he threw his own 
poems from him in despair. We can excuse 
Lamb for his foolish praise of Southey because 
Lamb was himself even less of a poet. Many 
of Lamb's verses would disgrace a very youth- 
ful schoolboy, and even his best poems are good 
only when compared with his poorer ones. Why 
is it that poets are so inadequately equipped as 
critics? Think of Swinburne, who was really 
something of a critic, uttering, as he did, un- 
qualified nonsense when reviewing the works of 
his brother poets. Think of his description of 
the poems of Byron as " jolter-headed jargon "; 



144 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

and listen to Voltaire mocking with contemptuous 
merriment the immortal work of Dante, and call- 
ing " Hamlet " the writing of one who was in 
large part a savage. 

Julia Ward Howe is, notwithstanding the 
large place she filled in the public mind, a minor 
poet. She was, as her friend Colonel Higgin- 
son has pointed out, many-sided. She was ac- 
quainted with the most distinguished men and 
women of this and other lands; and she was, as 
well, interested in all the literary and philan- 
thropic movements of her time. Her name was 
known everywhere, and her poems were trans- 
lated into many languages. Still Mrs. Howe 
is, beyond all question, a minor poet. Her one 
great contribution to literature is " The Battle 
Hymn of the Republic," a poem as felicitous in 
its title as it is beautiful in its expression. By 
that one effort, and by that alone, she will be 
remembered when all who knew and loved her 
have passed away. She is a poet of one poem 
so far as immortality is concerned. 

The only reason I can think of for placing 
James B. Kenyon among the minor poets is one 
not very creditable to the age in which he lives. 
I have known Dr. Kenyon these many years, and 
am well acquainted with his work. His literary 
output, if I may use so unpoetic a term in de- 
scribing literature of so high an order, should 
place his name among those of our foremost 
writers. I am acquainted with no better son- 
nets than his in all our English language, leav- 



MINOR POETS 145 

ing out of account, of course, those of Shake- 
speare and some of the old English authors who 
must be upon all occasions excepted out of 
courtesy to public opinion, if for no other 
reason. Kenyon should not be accounted a 
minor poet, but such he is, simply because, 
being a modest and retiring man, he has not 
sought recognition. Those who know his 
work are amazed at the slight attention it has 
received. 

Where so many poems are good and more than 
good, it is difficult to select ; but surely a dainty 
tribute to the memory of Edmund Spenser, 
printed in " Songs in all Seasons," one of Dr. 
Kenyon's earlier books, should not fail of appre- 
ciation. 

EDMUND SPENSER 

" How have the years flown since that golden day 
When where the Mulla rolls her dimpling flood, 
Thou heardst the birds sing in the Irish wood, 

And Raleigh with thee on the upland lay! 

Again through gloomy forests old and gray, 
O'er many a waste and trackless solitude, 
Whithersoe'er thy Muse's knightly mood 

May lead us in thy tale, we seem to stray. 

O master, it was not on oaten reeds 

Thou madest music for the world's delight, 
Nor yet on Pan's shrill pipe didst thou e'er 
flute; 

To sing of courtly grace and lordly deeds, 
Of lovely Una and the Redcross Knight, 
Behold! thou hadst Apollo's silver lute." 



146 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

I have pleasant remembrances of Niclas 
Muller, the German poet, who was born in 
Langenau, Germany, in the year 1809. In early 
life he was apprenticed to a printer in Stutt- 
gart, and during that apprenticeship he wrote 
a number of patriotic and revolutionary poems 
which attracted the attention of the government, 
and led to his flight from the fatherland. He 
came to America after a brief stay in Switzer- 
land, and settled in New York, where he carried 
on a general printing business. In his new 
home he brought out a number of very striking 
poems that at once secured him recognition in 
literary circles. During our Civil War he pub- 
lished a volume of verse which he called " Neuere 
Gedichte," — a broad title and hardly distinctive, 
yet one that singled the poems out as being 
among his more recent productions. Some of 
the verses were exceedingly beautiful, and sev- 
eral were later translated into musical English. 
At the time of the Franco-Prussian War he 
published his " Frische Blatter auf die Wunden 
deutscher Krieger." Still later, he gave the 
world " Lieder und Gedichte," a little book of 
many charming verses. 

Muller was a poet by nature. In his life as 
well as in his verses the spirit of the bard was 
everywhere seen and felt. William Cullen 
Bryant was so pleased with Muller's " Paradise 
of Tears " that he translated it into graceful 
English. Why the translation never appears 
among Bryant's poems I am unable to say; but 



MINOR POETS 147 

because it does not appear, I think I am not out 
of the way in reproducing it here. 

" Beside the River of Tears, with branches low, 
And bitter leaves, the weeping willows grow: 
The branches stream like the disheveled hair 
Of women in the sadness of despair. 

" On rolls the stream with a perpetual sigh ; 
The rocks moan wildly as it passes by; 
Hyssop and wormwood border all the strand, 
And not a flower adorns the dreary land. 

" Then comes a child whose face is like the sun, 
And dips the gloomy waters as they run, 
And waters all the region, and behold, 
The ground is bright with blossoms manifold. 

" Where fall the tears of love the rose appears ; 
And where the ground is bright with friendship's 

tears, 
Forget-me-nots and violets, heavenly blue, 
Spring glittering with the cheerful drops like dew. 

" The souls of mourners, all whose tears are dried, 
Like swans come gently floating down the tide, 
Walk up the golden sands by which it flows, 
And in that Paradise of Tears repose. 

" There every heart rej oins its kindred heart ; 
There, in a long embrace that none may part, 
Fulfilment meets desire; and that fair shore 
Beholds its dwellers happy evermore. ,, 

Muller was at the time of his death preparing 
a complete edition of his poems, and it is to be 



148 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

regretted that his life was not spared long 
enough for him to accomplish the work he had in 
hand. His death took place in the City of New 
York, in the month of August, 1875. Well do 
I remember him, and with tender regard, for he 
was my friend. Even now, after the lapse of 
many years, I seem at times to hear his once fa- 
miliar and ever kindly voice. I have only to 
open " Lieder und Gedichte," with its cherished 
inscription, to feel again the gentle presence that 
added something of beauty to earlier years. 

The minor poet, if a real poet, performs a serv- 
ice all his own for weary feet and aching heart. 
It is to him we turn at last with grateful ac- 
knowledgment. He may be only a flickering 
light, but what illumination he has he freely 
gives, as Amelia Josephine Burr, herself a minor 
poet, has beautifully said: 

" The firefly, flickering about 
In busy brightness, near and far, 
Lets not his little lamp go out 
Because he cannot be a star. 
He only seeks, the hour he lives, 
Bravely his tiny part to play, 
And all his being freely gives 
To make a summer evening gay." 

Yet they do much more than " make a summer 
evening gay." Often they pour upon the soul a 
flood of light, and not infrequently they comfort 
where great poets overawe and even discourage. 
They gladden the heart and bring it cheer by an 



MINOR POETS 149 

intimacy that comes of an equality with the 
reader. The minor poet seats himself by the fire- 
side of the reader's heart, where he is ever wel- 
come. His presence brings peace, and his songs 
lighten the burden while they assuage the sorrows 
of life. So thought Longfellow, himself a poet 
the whole world loved to honor. 

" Read from some humbler poet, 

Whose songs gushed from his heart 

As showers from the clouds of summer, 
Or tears from the eyelids start; 

" Who, through long days of labor 

And nights devoid of ease, 
Still heard in his soul the music 

Of wonderful melodies. 

" Such songs have power to quiet 

The restless pulse of care, 
And come like the benediction 

That follows after prayer." 

Alfred Noyes is a new poet. He has written 
too much for the years of his literary pilgrimage 
thus far. We have from his pen some good 
things, more that are poor, and none yet that 
take commanding place and give promise of en- 
during. The " Wine-Press " has slaughter and 
horror enough for more than one poem of very 
much greater dimensions. Many stanzas are 
dull, many lines are prose in everything but 
measure. The epilogue to the " Wine Press," 
which should give a strong voice of grateful satis- 



150 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

faction chastened by the dark and long-continued 
sorrow, is a tame ending. The influence of the 
poem is sane and helpful, and as an appeal may 
be called worthy; but it falls short of that 
song-spirit which is essential to poetry. Mr. 
Noyes's best lines are, nearly all of them, up to 
the present time (1915), found in that more 
than interesting poem in which he tells us so 
much about the old English inn we know in song 
and story as the " Mermaid Tavern." In that 
composition we have some of the poet's best lines, 
full of spirit and real beauty. 

There have been said of late in English and 
American newspapers many foolish things about 
a rising Indo-Anglican poet named Rabindranath 
Tagore. That he has written a few good lines 
cannot be denied; but he has thus far given the 
world nothing markedly virile or supremely beau- 
tiful. His work is distinguished by a dreamy 
mysticism always popular in the Orient. The 
following lines will give the reader some idea of 
the poet's feeling, if not of his literary style : 

" Do you know how the moments perform their 

adoration ? 
Waving its row of lamps, the Universe sings in 

worship day and night; 
There are the hidden banner and the secret canopy: 
There the sound of the unseen bells is heard. 
Kabir says : ' There adoration never ceases ; there 

the Lord of the Universe sitteth on his throne.' 
The whole world does its work and commits its er- 



MINOR POETS 151 

rors: but few are the lovers who know the Be- 
loved. 

The devout seeker is he who mingles in his heart 
the double currents of love and detachment, 
like the mingling of the streams of Ganges and 
Jumna ; 

In his heart the sacred water flows day and night; 
and thus the round of births and deaths is 
brought to an end." 

Of course there is a great difference between 
a poem in the original and that same poem in 
translation. The difference must be allowed for 
so far as possible, and yet every author knows 
that his appearance in a literature other than his 
own must prove to him and his readers more or 
less of a disaster. 

I do not know whether Mr. Clinton Scollard 
is to be named with the minor poets or should be 
reserved for consideration in a paper upon wider 
literature. He has produced some of the most 
delicately phrased verses in our language. His 
little poem, " In the Library," is a gem. The 
poems that are grouped in his recently published 
" Sprays of Shamrock " are, many of them, ex- 
quisite. He is a poet of great beauty, but he 
has not yet taken his seat by the side of Long- 
fellow, Whittier, and Emerson. He is now in 
middle life and may in the years to come take 
his place with the most distinguished of our 
American authors ; yet it must be remembered that 
the best poetry is generally written in youth or 



152 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

in early manhood. There are, however, notable 
exceptions to the rule. 

Maurice Thompson has written well; so has 
George Cabot Lodge. Mr. Lodge has given us 
few poems, but I have not seen one that was 
without its own peculiar grace and dignity. 
Edwin Markham came to literature late in life, 
and wholly upon the strength of a single poem. 
" The Man with the Hoe " will perhaps keep his 
name before the world, and it may be that his 
poem on " Lincoln " will be remembered. It is 
hard to place Edmund Clarence Stedman. There 
are those who class him with minor poets, but 
there are a still larger number of readers who 
would call him a major poet. If he was one of 
the former class he was certainly one of the very 
best of them. He was the friend of all worthy 
authors in his own and other lands, and he will 
be remembered for many a year because of his 
great kindness to the men of his own profession. 
Richard Watson Gilder had marked ability, but 
public opinion is divided, — and it seems to me 
that it will remain divided, — upon the question 
of his merit as a poet. The same uncertainty 
prevails as to the final appraisement of James 
Whitcomb Riley, John Vance Cheney, and Henry 
van Dyke. The three men named are still 
(1915) with us, and much will depend upon work 
yet to come. Dr. S. Weir Mitchell has written 
stories that will endure. Their places are al- 
ready fixed among the classical products of our 
age and generation. But I think his little book 



MINOR POETS 153 

of verse, " The Comfort of the Hills and Other 
Poems," will add nothing to his enviable reputa- 
tion. Rossiter Johnson and Stephen Henry 
Thayer have given the world work of which they 
need neither of them be ashamed. Mr. Thayer's 
" Songs of Sleepy Hollow " is a book of quiet 
and restful beauty that secures in the home a 
cordial welcome and in the library a place of 
honor. Arthur W. Colton has given us good 
work, but the one thing that interests us most in 
Mr. Colton is the large literary future that evi- 
dently lies before him. Will he live up to his 
possibility? That is a question no one can ever 
answer for another. Personally I believe we 
shall have more work from Mr. Colton, much of 
it as good as and some of it even better than that 
which he has thus far given to the world. 
Richard Edwin Day is a genuine poet of whom 
few have any knowledge. His modesty and hu- 
mility have interfered, and will, no doubt, con- 
tinue to interfere, with a public recognition of 
his genius and worth in the field of letters. He 
is a fine scholar and linguist, but his great ability 
is in verse and not in prose. His poem, " The 
Conquest of Thebes," is a noble piece of classical 
word-painting, and the same thing may be said 
of his " The Fall of Dionysus." 

Should Sidney Lanier be assigned a place 
among the major or among the minor poets? 
His work is now finished, and he is with us no 
more save in the marvelously beautiful lines 
through which he still speaks to the generations 



154* FIRESIDE PAPERS 

of men. Where we are to place him must de- 
pend upon what we understand by major and 
minor poets. If we mean by the former only 
absolutely first-class bards, — men like Homer, 
Shakespeare, and Dante, — it must be evident 
that in this paper we are dealing with only third- 
and fourth-class poets. Milton comes a long 
distance after Shakespeare, and yet he surely 
outranks such modern poets as Tennyson, Poe, 
Longfellow, and Whittier; and these again out- 
rank Matthew Arnold, Thomas Bailey Aldrich, 
Campbell, and Oliver Wendell Holmes. I am 
persuaded that we can never classify men of 
genius in that way. The simple division of all 
poets into major and minor will bring together 
men who have nothing in common, and who dif- 
fer widely in poetic gifts ; but it is a possible 
classification and one not wholly unjust. Lanier 
is, I think, a minor poet, but one of the very 
best of them. Had he lived longer and been 
the happy possessor of better health, it is more 
than likely that his later, but now forever un- 
sung, songs would give him a clear title to an 
enviable place among our major poets. 

Thoreau's poems are of little worth. It is 
fortunate for him that there are so few of them. 
They not only do not help the reputation his 
delightful prose has bestowed upon him, but they 
detract something from it. Fitz-Greene Hal- 
leck was a poet of the day in which he lived. He 
lacked creative genius, as did also N. P. Willis. 
Halleck's satires upon public characters of his 



MINOR POETS 155 

period gave him immediate but local fame. He 
is not known beyond the boundaries of the United 
States, and there are few if any translations of 
his poems. They would not be understood by 
foreigners, and I doubt the ability of a trans- 
lator to make him intelligible in other languages 
than his own. 

Joseph Rodman Drake's longest poem is 
" The Culprit Fay." It is not without attrac- 
tive lines, but as a whole it is scarcely saved 
from being dull and commonplace. The one 
poem that made him famous is " The American 
Flag." It is a spirited composition, full of 
patriotic enthusiasm. Drake tried medicine be- 
fore he entered upon his literary career. He 
hung out his shingle at No. 121 Bowery, in 
the then little city of New York. He early be- 
came acquainted with Fitz-Greene Halleck, and 
between the two men there grew up the warmest 
friendship. Later, Drake formed a partnership 
with Dr. William Langstaff, and the two to- 
gether opened a drug-shop at No. 34 Park Row, 
next to the corner of Beekman Street. Drake had 
his own quarters over the shop, and there, sur- 
rounded by his books, he passed some of the hap- 
piest hours of his brief life. With Halleck 
he contributed anonymously to the " Evening 
Post," then edited by William Coleman. They 
wrote together the " Croaker Papers," which at- 
tracted general attention, and the " Evening 
Post " became very popular. No one knew who 
the Croakers were, and for a long time the 



156 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

secret of their identity was carefully guarded. 
Later, the Papers and both Halleck's poems and 
those of Drake were published in separate vol- 
umes. On the twenty-ninth of May, 1819, 
Drake's " Ode to the American Flag " was 
printed in the " Post," and at once the reputa- 
tion of Joseph Rodman Drake was established. 
He died in 1820 in his unpretentious little home 
over the drug-shop. Not long after the burial 
of Drake in the lonely and neglected cemetery at 
Hunt's Point, Halleck published his simple and 
tenderly beautiful monody upon the " Death of 
Drake." The first stanza of the poem is, it 
seems to me, an absolutely perfect piece of versi- 
fication : 

" Green be the turf above thee, 

Friend of my better days; 
None knew thee but to love thee, 

Nor named thee but to praise." 

Halleck's best-known poem is, of course, 
" Marco Bozzaris." His " Burns " and his 
" Red Jacket " are never without admirers. 
His longest poem, " Fanny," was what might be 
called " a hit " ; its local allusions render it un- 
intelligible to readers of the present time. 

Mrs. Sigourney, whose longest and best-known 
poem is " Zinzendorff," was one of our early 
poets. She was a good woman, respected by all 
who knew her, but she was a writer of almost no 
ability. Ray Palmer is seldom counted in with 
the poets, but in his little book of verse are two 



MINOR POETS 157 

beautiful hymns that are sung in all our Ameri- 
can churches and that have been translated into 
a number of languages. The more important 
of the two hymns is called " Faith " and was 
written when Palmer was a very young man. 
The opening stanza runs thus : 

" My faith looks up to thee, 
Thou Lamb of Calvary, 

Saviour divine; 
Now hear me while I pray, 
Take all my guilt away, 
O let me from this day 

Be wholly thine." 

Eliza Scudder is another gifted spirit, and a 
writer of very beautiful hymns. Much of her 
early life was passed in the old Salem of seventy- 
five or more years ago, surrounded by devotional 
books and the quaint associations of early New 
England. During the best years of her life she 
was of the Unitarian faith, but her closing days 
found her in a Trinitarian communion. Sad it 
is to remember, but it is true, nevertheless, that 
her change in religious belief brought with it, 
for her, alienations and distressing separations. 
Her change in religious affiliation was brought 
about in a measure, it may be, through a newly 
formed acquaintance with Phillips Brooks. 
" The Morning Watch," discussing the change in 
her religious views and experience, attributed it 
to an altered intellectual conception of religious 
truth, and to a " deepening of her apprehension 



158 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

of the Incarnation." In her life there was much 
of privation and long ill-health. 

Eliza Scudder inclined to a mystical view of 
life, as did many of our New England writers of 
a half-century or more ago. It is difficult to 
distinguish between the mystical and the spirit- 
ual. Sometimes there is no difference. In the 
lonely life of Miss Scudder the two elements min- 
gled freely. Beautifully they flow together in 
one of her hymns, which she has named " The 
Love of God," and which may be found in many 
of our best hymnals : 

THE LOVE OF GOD 

" Thou Grace Divine, encircling all, 

A soundless, shoreless sea! 
Wherein at last our souls must fall, 

O Love of God most free! 

" When over dizzy heights we go, 

One soft hand blinds our eyes; 
The other leads us safe and slow, 

O Love of God most wise ! 

" And though we turn us from thy face, 

And wander wide and long, 
Thou hold'st us still in thine embrace, 

O Love of God most strong! 

" The saddened heart, the restless soul, 

The toil-worn frame and mind, 
Alike confess thy sweet control, 

O Love of God most kind! 



MINOR POETS 159 

" But not alone thy care we claim, 

Our wayward steps to win; 
We know thee by a dearer name, 

O Love of God within! 

" And filled and quickened by thy breath, 

Our souls are strong and free 
To rise o'er sin and fear and death, 

O Love of God, to thee ! " 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox has written some good 
poems and many others scarcely worth the read- 
ing. Several of her poetical compositions have 
become very popular, and are sure to reappear in 
every new anthology. Edith Thomas is a better 
poet. John White Chadwick, Edward Rowland 
Sill, Robert Underwood Johnson, and Richard 
Hovey have all written well. Harriet Prescott 
Spofford is, though a minor poet, a very beauti- 
ful one. Many poets have produced too much, 
but it is Mrs. Spofford's fault that she has 
written too little. All her poems have a peculiar 
grace and dignity. John Addington Symonds 
has given the world more prose than verse, but 
his verses are always well worth remembering. 
William E. Henley, the English poet, will live 
because of one poem only, as will Julia Ward 
Howe, John Howard Payne, Charles Wolfe, 
James R. Randall, C. P. Cranch, and many 
other writers of verse. A single poem may im- 
mortalize its author. Miss Dickinson, who lived 
her quiet life in the little village of Amherst, 
wrote what may be called formless poems; they 



160 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

were rough and surprisingly individual, yet gen- 
uinely inspired. She paid no more attention to 
the common rules of versification than did Walt 
Whitman, and yet no one can be blind to the 
beauty of her many strange verses. These two 
stanzas will give some idea of her style : 

" If I shouldn't be alive 
When the robins come, 
Give the one in red cravat 
A memorial crumb. 

" If I couldn't thank you, 
Being just asleep, 
You will know I'm trying 
With my granite lip ! " 

The poet, like every other man, must work if 
he would succeed. Inspiration is indispensable, 
but there must be artistic training, and, later on, 
an artistic experience as well. 

** Man is no star, but a quick coal 

Of mortal fire; 
Who blows it not, nor doth control 

A faint desire, 
Lets his own ashes choke his soul." 

Jones Very was a clergyman of the Unitarian 
denomination; a man of fine spirit, delicate yet 
vigorous imagination, and great culture. He 
was fortunate in his literary friends, among 
whom were Emerson and the New England 
literati. They did much to further his inter- 






MINOR POETS 161 

ests as an author, and it seems to me that they 
in some measure exaggerated his worth as a poet. 
His poems are not lacking in inspiration, though 
they certainly are wanting in variety. 

James Gates Percival was a Connecticut edi- 
tor, a geologist, and poet. His miscellaneous 
patriotic and sentimental verses are now rapidly 
fading from American literature. He wrote 
with ease, and most of his work has been cor- 
rectly described as " monotonously unreadable." 
William Ross Wallace was known to the readers 
of half a century ago as " the ' New York 
Ledger ' poet." Every issue of the " Ledger " 
made public a new poem by Wallace. He was, of 
course, something of a " machine poet," and most 
of his contributions are already forgotten. 
Those who give any thought in these days to the 
work of Wallace regard his "Of Thine Own 
Country Sing " as the best of his many produc- 
tions. John Godfrey Saxe was an American 
comic versifier. It would be a fatal stretch of 
imagination to call him a poet, though there 
were, of course, some fine lines among his many 
rhymed jokes. 

John Hay was a real poet though a minor 
one. It will not be necessary here to dwell upon 
his great services rendered to our country. This 
paper has to do with his worth as a poet only. 
He was never proud of his literary work, and 
after he became a statesman of world-wide celeb- 
rity he was absolutely ashamed of his " Pike 
County Ballads," among which appear " Jim 



162 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

Bludso" and "Little Breeches." With in- 
creasing years he became more conservative, and 
the semi-irreverent tone and Wild-West style of 
the two poems named displeased him. Mr. Hay 
in his later days felt toward the " Pike County 
Ballads " very much as James Russell Lowell 
felt toward the " Biglow Papers " which in early 
life he was so " indiscreet " as to publish. Mr. 
Hay wrote in a letter which appeared in the 
" Westminster Gazette " : 

" I do not think much of my poems. They have 
had an enormous success, both in this country and 
in England, but I think it will be ephemeral. I 
got the story of ' Little Breeches •' from a sermon by 
Mr. Winans of Hamilton. The character of ' Jim 
Bludso ' was to a certain extent founded on Oliver 
Fairchild of Warsaw; of course it was not intended 
for a likeness. I have forgotten the real name of 
the boat on which he perished." 

Thomas Buchanan Read, George Henry 
Boker, Thomas William Parsons, Alice Cary, 
Lucy Larcom, Rose Terry Cooke, Elizabeth 
Akers Allen, Celia Laighton Thaxter, Helen Hunt 
Jackson, Paul Hamilton Hayne, James Herbert 
Morse, and Joaquin Miller have done some good 
work, but we cannot concede them places with 
the great poets whose names will live forever. 
Oblivion awaits them all, as I believe most of them 
would be wise enough and candid enough to ad- 
mit. Yet they belong in the same family with 
the most gifted of the world's great singers. 



MINOR POETS 163 

They have made our lives more beautiful, and 
we owe them a debt of gratitude which we do well 
to acknowledge. 

Richard Henry Stoddard was of very humble 
origin, but he took his seat with men and women 
of large ability. He began life with manual la- 
bor, and he ended it with a national, if not an 
international, reputation. He had an original 
and fine imagination. He was capable of the 
tenderest sympathy, and yet at times he could 
rise to the noblest heights of heroism. His 
genius won recognition, and yet, — strange to 
say, — he did not discover it, and his closing 
days were saddened by a feeling that his work 
was not fully appreciated. 

Francis Scott Key wrote our national hymn 
as it is called ; it is really a " song " and not a 
hymn. But I cannot think that " The Star- 
spangled Banner " makes Key a poet, though I 
have described him as such in my list of " Poets 
of a Single Poem " in " The Excursions of a 
Book-lover." If his single patriotic song makes 
him a poet, it follows that " La Marseillaise " 
makes Rouget de Lisle a poet. Both songs are 
great in their way, but they both owe very much 
to the music, without which the words would 
count for little. 

Mr. Thomas S. Jones, Jr., has written some 
fine verses ; his " Rose Jar " has its own peculiar 
charm. The style is at once simple and rich. 
Phillips Brooks, the good bishop, wrote few 
poems, but those few are well worth reading and 



164 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

preserving. Among them are several hymns that 
are now justly popular in church circles. Brooks 
could write love songs as well as sermons, as may 
be seen by the reading of these tender lines 
written by him in 1859 : 

" We sit together in our soul's high window, Dear- 
est, 
That looks upon the street of human life, 
Within, our happy home; without, the world thou 
fearest; 
Within, our peace; without, man's angry strife. 

" Look out ! see how strange eyes look here upon us, 
How poor they think our dwelling and how 
cheap; 

They dream not of our godlike joys and honors, 
The rich, ripe fields of blessing that we reap. 

" Nay, close the curtain ; it is wrong, my Sweetest, 
That they should see the love they do not know, — 

Our love, the purest, Darling, and completest 
God ever trusted to our earth below. 

" Sit here, my Love, with all the world behind us, 
Sit hand in hand, nor dare to speak a word; 

'Tis wronging God to share what he consigned us 
With every outcast of the human herd. 

" So sit we by the soul's sweet fireside, Fairest; 

The days go by as light winds kiss the flowers; 
They seek through all earth's sweetest and earth's 
rarest 

A love so sweet, a love so rare as ours." 



MINOR POETS 165 

All these were minor poets if we drop out the 
song-writers, who perhaps were song-writers only, 
and not poets in any large sense of the word. 
Some of them are still with us, and may yet do 
much good work. As a general rule noble senti- 
ment and fine feeling will not of themselves im- 
part lasting qualities to prose or verse. Many 
a poem that has had really nothing of value has 
been saved to posterity by the subtile and haunt- 
ing beauty of its artistic expression. 

" All passes. Art alone 

Enduring stays to us; 
The bust outlasts the throne, — 

The coin, Tiberius; 

" Even the gods must go ; 

Only the lofty rhyme 
Not countless years o'erthrow, — 

Not long array of time. 

" Paint, chisel, then, or write ; 

But, that the work surpass, 
With the hard fashion fight, — 

With the resisting mass." * 

An old story shows us how the man who con- 
cerns himself with trifles advances to his own 
destruction. Live for to-day, and the morrow 
will bring oblivion. The work that endures is 
done by the man who gives little heed to the 
opinions of others. He is not the slave of his 
contemporaries. The general opinion of the 

i Translated by Austin Dobson from Theophile Gautier. 



166 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

thoughtless world helps no man to aspire to 
great things, nor will it help him to rise. This 
is the old story: 

" Anim, the son of Al Raschid, when besieged 
by his brother in Bagdad, refused to quit his game 
at chess, although his men were driven from the 
breach and loudly demanded his presence to reani- 
mate them. * Stop/ said he, ' let me not lose the 
glorious opportunity of a check-mate ! ' ' Good 
sense and good fortune,' said the irritated messen- 
ger, * are inseparable companions,' and left Anim 
to his evil destiny. He was conducted to an im- 
mediate death by order of the Conqueror." 

The Anims of this and succeeding ages linger 
at their games and allow opportunity to go her 
way. In a strong and true sonnet by John 
James Ingalis there is set before the reader the 
sacred solemnity of the one " hour of fate " that 
comes, and goes, and nevermore returns. Mr. 
Ingalis seized the hour of which he so nobly sang. 
He was several times elected to the United States 
Senate, and before his public services were ended 
he was accounted the ablest debater in the Sen- 
ate. We venture to believe that in the years to 
come he will be better known as the author of the 
little poem on " Opportunity " than as the dis- 
tinguished senator and the most renowed debater 
of his day. Thus runs the poem: 

" Master of human destinies am I ! 

Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait; 
Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate 



MINOR POETS 167 

Deserts and seas remote; and passing by- 
Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late 
I knock unbidden, once, at every gate! 

If feasting, rise; if sleeping, wake before 
I turn away. It is the hour of fate; 
And they who follow me reach every state 

Mortals desire, and conquer every foe 

Save death. But those who doubt or hesitate, 

Condemned to failure, penury, and woe, 
Seek me in vain and ceaselessly implore; 
I answer not, and I return — no more." 

In my student days in the City of New York I 
knew a poet, at that time a young man, whose lit- 
erary promise and future were wholly destroyed 
by long-continued illness. His genius was never 
recognized except by a very small and select circle 
of cultivated men and women. Burr Griswold 
Hosmer, of whom I write, was born at Mead- 
ville, Pennsylvania, September 2, 1841. I am 
particular about the place and date of birth be- 
cause his name will be found, so far as my knowl- 
edge extends, in no biographical dictionary. He 
studied five years in New Haven ; visited Europe 
in 1860; attended lectures at the University of 
Berlin; traveled in England, Belgium, France, 
Germany, Italy, and Switzerland; and returned 
to the United States in the autumn of 1867, 
where he gave instruction in the German lan- 
guage and literature. He wrote much for papers 
and magazines, and published in 1868 a little 
book of poems. 

He was the son of an Episcopal clergyman, 



168 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

but when I knew him his father had long been 
dead, and he was living with his mother in New 
York City. His health during all the time I 
was acquainted with him continued feeble. His 
means were not large, but, being a diligent student 
and a teacher of more than ordinary ability, he 
succeeded in making for his mother and himself 
a comfortable living. He was a man of brave 
heart and of scrupulous integrity. There were 
times when sickness clouded his mind, and he was 
not always happy. He was domestic in his tem- 
per, fond of children, and simple in his tastes. 
Being of democratic opinions and associations, 
he made many friends among the poor and ob- 
scure ; yet in his conversation, which was always 
markedly original and often rich in interest, 
there was a fine sense of propriety. He was 
a true friend, and his friends loved him 
well. 

His little book of one hundred and seventy 
pages contains fifty-eight poems arranged in 
three periods, each period corresponding to a 
period in the poet's literary life. The poem 
called " Utterance " is, I think, among his best, 
and I venture to reproduce it in its entirety: 

" How fine is feeling, 
And how rough is speech! 
How, through the gossamer 
Of reverie, 

The rude word bursts, 
And shatters it amain! 



MINOR POETS 169 

" Ah, when shall language rise 

Above its stammering? 

How long shall every foremost mind 

Despise the word, 

While from the need 

Of intercourse, 

Still wooing it? 

"The God within, 
Striving to speak 
With human mouth, 
Recoils from discord 
He has made. 
Perfect musician he; 
But base his instrument. 

" Yet patience schools 
The voice at last 
To sweetly hint 
Its birth divine. 

" O peace-restoring Art, 

That givest to the formless, form, 

And to the voiceless, voice; 

Mouldest deformity 

Into a sterner loveliness, 

Even as Nature rounds 

Her wayward shapes 

To symmetry! 

" The arts receive 

The natural man; 

And educate him, step by step, 

Unto the master-art, — 

The art of Life. 



170 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

"Afar, behind expression, hides 

The thing to be expressed. 

Deep underneath all that we do 

And all we seem 

Lies what we feel; 

And what we feel, we are." 

Was Phyllis Wheatley, of early fame, a poet? 
Why inquire? She thought herself a poet, and 
there were in her day those who thought as she 
thought. It is said that she was of pure African 
blood. She was, as all the world knows, a col- 
ored maiden, but I do not know whether she had 
or had not in her veins a drop or two of white 
blood, and I do not think it likely that any one 
ever will know. That a negress had appeared 
who could write verses was, a century, ago, a nine- 
days wonder; and after she was dead the com- 
bination of African blood and American letters 
conferred upon her a certain kind of immortality. 
She indited verses to George Washington and 
sent the great man a copy. He, being the gen- 
tleman that he was, acknowledged the compliment 
and so conferred upon her such fame as a place 
in our primitive history affords. The theolo- 
gians say, " Once a Christian, always a Chris- 
tian." The physicians treat sick ex-doctors 
without compensation on the same ground, — a 
physician remains a physician so long as he lives. 
Thus it is, I suppose, with the poets, — once a 
poet, always a poet. They called her a poet in 
those primitive times. She got into literature 
and there she will remain. Think of all the ob- 



MINOR POETS 171 

scure English poets whose lives are preserved for 
us by Dr. Johnson! They have fixed places in 
literature, and you could no more pry them out 
from those places than you could pull a limpet 
from a rock with your unassisted hands. Fame 
is hard to win, but, once won, it adheres like one's 
own skin. Dr. Johnson's poets are most of them 
forgotten, but when you are so improvident as to 
purchase a complete set of the good doctor's 
books, you buy the story of all those uninteresting 
lives. 

Well, Phyllis Wheatley is preserved like a fly 
in amber. Some day there will be a statue to 
the colored poet if there is not one now. If 
the statue is not of bronze but of marble, the 
stone will be as white as the finest marble that 
can be found in the Italian hills. Why not? 
All who knew her knew her for a good woman. 
But being good does not make one a poet. To 
those who survive there comes an age of ideali- 
zation. That age has come to Phyllis Wheatley. 
It is said that she possessed a refined and in- 
tellectual face. We are told that there was 
something about her presence and in her society 
not easily described. A certain college professor 
tells the world that he has not yet discovered 
just the word by which she is to be distinguished. 
My dear professor, is the word " genius " the 
one you are seeking? Well, she had no genius; 
but why higgle about a little thing like that? 
When one is idealizing, why not go the whole 
figure? They are now beginning to make at- 



172 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

tractive pictures of the young woman, but, in 
truth, the people of her day did not think of 
her as anything more than a somewhat gifted 
colored woman. They were surprised to find 
that a colored woman could have any gifts. I 
have seen early pictures of Phyllis Wheatley, and 
they do not make her enchantingly attractive. 
To tell the truth, she had a pug nose and char- 
acteristic lips. But she was an early writer of 
verses, such as they were. She got into print. 
And the fame that a not over-critical age in its 
surprise conferred upon her adhered. Her little 
book has been reprinted, and the first edition 
brings a large price. 

We have had with us in these later years an 
African writer who was a true poet. Paul 
Laurence Dunbar fills a worthy place in Ameri- 
can letters, and he will hold the place that be- 
longs to him, not because of time or circumstance, 
but because of real and enduring ability. 



VII 



THE RECENT DISCOVERY OF A POEM 
BY SAPPHO 

The isles of Greece! the isles of Greece! 
Where burning Sappho loved and sung. 

— Byron. 

The world has suffered no greater literary loss 
than the loss of Sappho's poems. So perfect are 
the smallest fragments preserved . . . that we 
muse in a sad rapture of astonishment to think what 
the complete poems must have been. ... Of all 
the poets of the world, of all the illustrious artists 
of all literatures, Sappho is the one whose every 
word has a peculiar and unmistakable perfume, a 
seal of absolute perfection and illimitable peace. 
— J. Addington Symonds. 



THE RECENT DISCOVERY OF A POEM 
BY SAPPHO 

DR. GRENFELL and Mr. Hunt have distin- 
guished themselves by digging up treasures 
of ancient art and letters from the dust-heaps of 
Oxyrhynchus in Egypt. Now (1914) they have 
discovered parts of a new poem by Sappho. Mr. 
Osborn, who is known the world over as a learned 
and skilled critic and classicist, was so affected 
by the discovery that, forgetting he was an in- 
valid, he leaped from his bed, and demanded that 
a copy of the Greek lines should be shown him 
at once. The " find " is a very great one, but 
the damaged condition of the papyrus makes the 
heart of every lover of classical literature to 
ache. Conjectural readings are, of course, nec- 
essary, and those of Mr. Edmonds restore the 
poem fairly well. Here is the text (all we have 
of it), Mr. Edmonds's readings being bracketed 
and the poem being given just as it appeared in 
the " Classical Review " : — 

O] I fiev LTnrrjoiV crrpoTOV ol Se 7recr$wv 
ol 8e vdoiv <palo J hri yav (xiXaivav 
el fi/xevau kolXXigtov eya> Be Krjv 3 ot- 

TW TLS epCLTGU. 

wujyxv B 3 efyuapes ovverov Tr6r}<rai 
7rd]vTL t[ov]t'' a yap iroXv irepcrKO- 

Tretaa 
Ka[XXo<s av6p<i)TT(av 'EAeVa tov avSpa 

KpLVVeV dp\i(JTOV 

o<s to 7rav] o-e/?as Tpota[s o]Ae(7or[€, 

175 



176 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

KwvBe 7ra]tSos ovSe [<£iA]wv to[k]^cov 
fxdXXov] ifivdcrdr], a[AAa] irapayay* 

avrav 
7rrjXe </>tAei[crav 

Tlpos- evK]ajA7rTov yap [del to OrjXv 
at k£]tl<s kow/xos t[o irdpov v]orjarj' 
ov]8e vvv, 'AvaKTopi [a, t]v fxefiva 
Brj] 7rapeoLcras f 

ra] s Ke jSoWoLfxav eparov re /3afJLa 
K]afxdpvyfxa Xd/xvpov L$r]V irpocroyTro) 
r] ra AvBmv dpfxara kov 07rAoicri 
7T€o-So/x] a^evTas* 

€u fJikv tS]/u,ev ov SvvaTov yiveaOai 
Awcrr' e] v dvOpijmois' 7reSe^v 8' 
apaoOai 

[t6)v 7rc8et^ov ecrrt fipoTOim Aa>ov] 

[77 XeXddeaOai. ] 

What an evening with Sappho " the beloved " ! 
All the long night her lines were ringing in my 
ears, and here, after the enthusiasm born of so 
great a discovery, is my translation. That it is 
true to the original (excluding the conjectural 
readings) I know beyond peradventure. I wish 
I could be as sure that the deeper spirit of the 
Lesbian singer had been caught and held fast by 
the rendering. 

The fairest thing in all the world some say 
That mighty horsemen are, — a noble host ; 

And others judge it is a force of foot; 

Still more of armed ships would make their boast. 

But, as for me, I hold the one beloved, 
My soul's desire, is fairest of them all. 

To make this plain no task it is, I think: 

Helen her heart obeyed at Love's strong call. 



A POEM BY SAPPHO 177 

The man who ruined Troy she swiftly chose, — 
Nor child, nor parent gave her such delight: 

One burning love all other loves consumed, 

So fierce the flame, so quenchless, and so bright. 

Pliant is woman when her nearer loves 
Surrendered are, and then forgotten quite. 

Even so, my Anactoria, dear, 

When with you dwells your heart's supreme de- 
light, 

When her sweet voice hath tender power to charm, 
Her lightest footfall and her beaming face, — 

These I'd rather have than chariots bright, 
And armed troops the Lydian land doth grace. 

I know men have not in this world the best, 

Yet pray to share what once was shared, for so 

'Tis better far than to forget and lose 

The flower of love that blooms for us below. 

Beyond doubt two stanzas at the very least 
are wanting to the papyrus. The last two lines 
in the Greek as given by Mr. Edmonds are con- 
jectural, and are bracketed as such. Mr. Os- 
born says: 

" It must have been heartrending to the search- 
ers in the Egyptian sands to read, on the last of 
fifty-six fragments of papyrus from which barely 
a dozen whole stanzas can be restored, the sub- 
scription: ' The First Book of the Lyrics of Sappho, 
1,332 lines/ Yet if all those lines, golden honey 
and blood-red wine commingled and so strangely 



178 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

strained clear, had been recovered, I suppose the 
man in the club-window would still have preferred 
the Budget as a theme of conversation, for all that 
he thinks he has a classical education. 

" Fragments of a second roll, containing the ' Sec- 
ond Book of the Lyrics/ have also been found; 
one of them sings of the return home of Hector with 
his bride Andromache. Portions of poems by 
Alcaeus have also been recovered, but such tidings 
do not stir the heart, — for we know as much as we 
want to know about that fluent poet of fluctuating 
moods, who is but a pallid and superficial creature 
in comparison with the mother-in-art, and more than 
sister of Gongyla and Doricha (the names of these 
pupils occur provokingly on fragments of unknown 
context). It is but little, after all, when there 
might have been so much. Nevertheless, let us be 
grateful for a boon beyond expectation, and hope 
that further search may yet restore to us all the 
Lesbian's lost lyrics. And to that end let some 
millionaire give a tithe of his millions to equip the 
quest fully — for if his miserable money were to 
give us back the heart of Sappho out of the dust of 
death, he would have earned his immortality, the 
gates of heaven's glory would not be closed on his 
silly little soul." 

Of Sappho we know so little that we may al- 
most be said to know nothing. She was born on 
the island of Lesbos, and later removed to Sicily, 
where she seems to have composed many of her 
finest poems. We are not absolutely sure about 
the date of her birth, nor yet about that of her 
death. From one of her verses we infer that she 



A POEM BY SAPPHO 179 

was living in the year 568 b. c, and if our in- 
ference is correct, she had written some of her 
immortal verses before Gautama, the founder 
of Buddhism, had been cradled in the loving 
arms of his royal mother. It is a long, long 
time ago that our Lesbian poet sang in the 
world's ear those sweet songs that are with us 
still, and that never in all the future of our race 
can be forgotten. It was during her lifetime 
that the two great prophets, Jeremiah and Dan- 
iel, lived. Solon was then at Athens, and Tar- 
quinius Priscus reigned over Rome in the dawn- 
ing history of that great city. Though some 
of her work remains, it is in fragmentary form, 
and we are not sure we have to-day a single piece 
in its entirety. Still, what remains is more pre- 
cious to the world than twenty-five hundred years 
ago it was to the men and women who knew the 
author herself, and who even then recognized her 
genius as of the first order. 

Of Sappho's parents we know even less than 
we know of the poet herself. Herodotus gives 
her father's name as Scamandronymus. It may 
be he had authentic information, for he lived 
within a century and a half of the poet's death. 
Suidas, the compiler of a famous Greek lexicon 
in the eleventh century, records seven other 
names that her father is supposed to have borne. 
He also tells us she had two brothers who were 
known to the men of their generation as Cha- 
raxus and Larichus. Professor Charles Anthon 
says, in his " Greek Literature " : 



180 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

" There can be only one opinion as to Sappho's 
poetic genius. It is almost superfluous to refer to 
the numerous passages in which the ancient writers 
have expressed their unbounded admiration of her 
productions. In true poetic genius she appears to 
have been fully equal to Alcseus, and far superior 
to him in grace and sweetness. Of all Greek lyric 
poets she is the one who, in her own peculiar branch 
of inspiration, was held to have attained most nearly 
to perfection." 

In her own age she was called the " tenth 
muse," and there is a tradition that Solon, upon 
hearing one of her poems recited, was so deeply 
affected that he wished to memorize it. Strabo 
speaks of her in even more extravagant terms 
than were used by either Catullus or Horace, 
both of whom praised and imitated her verse. 
She of course wrote many poems of which we have 
no knowledge. A considerable number of her 
verses are described as erotic, but the word 
" amatory " describes them better. Few, if any, 
are correctly called unchaste. Ovid's heroic epis- 
tle, " Sappho to Phaon," translated by Alex- 
ander Pope, comes closer to the erotic than most 
of Sappho's verses. The story of her extrava- 
gant love for Phaon, and that of her leap from 
the Leucadian rock because he disdained her, have 
but slight historical foundation. Yet the rock 
is pointed out, partly because of a venerable tra- 
dition, and partly because Strabo, in his Geogra- 
phy, says : 



A POEM BY SAPPHO 181 

" There is a white rock which stretches out from 
Leucas to the sea and towards Cephallenia, that 
takes its name from its whiteness. The rock of 
Leucas has upon it a temple of Apollo, and the leap 
from it was believed to stop love. From this it is 
said that Sappho, in pursuit of the haughty Phaon, 
urged on by maddening desire, threw herself." 

To the lonely rock on one of the Ionian islands 
journey every year pilgrims of sentiment, even 
as to the tomb of Abelard and Heloise in Pere- 
la-Chaise journey from year to year those whose 
hearts are moved by a like feeling. 

But did Sappho really come to her death by 
that fatal leap? Those who know the most there 
is to be known about the Lesbian poetess believe 
that she died a natural death. But in these days 
nearly every fact is questioned. We no longer 
hold to the tale of Pocahontas and Captain 
Smith. Washington and the cherry tree are 
laughed at. Bacon has absconded with the plays 
of Shakespeare. Now Sappho and her rock are 
relegated to the realm of fiction. In a few years, 
no doubt, our children will read in their school- 
books that Napoleon, Lincoln, and Grant never 
lived. This is a wise age, and whoever would 
keep abreast of it must cast aside the useless 
burdens of history and content himself with be- 
lieving nothing. 

By a large consensus of opinion Sappho's 
lines, " To the Beloved Fair," sometimes ren- 
dered, " To the Beloved Woman," are among the 



182 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

best of the works of her rare genius that remain 
to us. Plutarch, Strabo, Athenseus, and Longi- 
nus all speak of them. Critics see their influence 
in Horace's ode " To Lydia," and in the fourth 
book of Virgil's " JEneid." How beautiful this 
rendition from Sappho by Ambrose Phillips: 

" Blest as the immortal gods is he, 
The youth who fondly sits by thee, 
And hears and sees thee all the while 
Softly speak and sweetly smile. 

" 'Twas this deprived my soul of rest, 
And raised such tumults in my breast; 
For while I gazed, in transport tost, 
My breath was gone, my voice was lost. 

" My bosom glowed; the subtle flame 
Ran quick through all my vital frame; 
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung, 
My ears with hollow murmurs rung. 

" In dewy damps my limbs were chilled ; 
My blood with gentle horrors thrilled; 
My feeble pulse forgot to play; 
I fainted, sank, and died away." 

Romance not infrequently dies when the beau- 
tiful story is traced to its beginning. Thus the 
lovely Laura of whom Petrarch sang was the 
wholesome and virtuous wife of a self-respecting 
but uninteresting man. Dante's Beatrice became 
a plain, prosaic wife, but her love was not for 
the man who immortalized her. The admirers of 



A POEM BY SAPPHO 183 

Sappho (and who that knows her verse is not to 
be counted among her admirers?) are sometimes 
greatly taken aback when they learn from Suidas 
that their poet was a married woman, whose hus- 
band, Cercolas, was a man of great wealth but 
not of much learning. He was a man of affairs, 
possibly a money-king or a pork-packer. There 
was in those early days no Chicago for him to do 
business in, and no American market for him to 
manipulate; but it may be he sold his wife's 
poems to a literary syndicate or managed a 
publicity company in her interest. So far as 
we know, Cercolas (if he existed) lived happily 
with his wife, and she bore him a daughter who 
is referred to by Ovid, who calls her Cleis. 

It may be that Sappho was an honored mother 
in a happy family, was a good neighbor, went 
to the sewing-circle that met in the Temple of 
Apollo, or somewhere else, to make socks and mit- 
tens for the Lesbian soldiers, and was somewhat 
ashamed of some of her poems, which, however, 
she preserved because the priest of this or that 
tutelary deity told her they were good. It may 
be she was fond of dress, liked small talk, and 
found great satisfaction in bangles and jewels; 
in other words, it may be that she was just 
simply a woman, plus the poet, and nothing 
more. 

Here, again, comes in the war of words and 
battle of books. Who knows that she had a hus- 
band? Suidas says so: but who knows that Sui- 
das tells the truth? Ovid refers to a daughter, 



184. FIRESIDE PAPERS 

but then, in those days one could have any num- 
ber of daughters without being encumbered by 
a husband. Now, in literary, artistic, and dra- 
matic circles, a woman may have any number of 
husbands without being burdened by either son 
or daughter. Who knows that Sappho was any 
such woman as we have just pictured? I ven- 
ture to say she was a very different kind of 
woman. The comic poets gave her a husband, 
and they gave her husband his name. They 
tricked her out in all the small weaknesses of 
the everyday woman, added domesticity and 
much else, and then invited us to take a look at 
our heroine. No doubt Sappho became enamored 
of some one, — if not of Phaon, then of another ; 
but it does not follow that love must have led in 
her case to suicide. Her verses are not in any 
way morbid. They do not look in the direction 
of suicide. She had strong passions, but they 
were united to a vigorous mind. She had noth- 
ing of the sickly spirit that characterized Cleo- 
patra. 

Several persons have been named as her hus- 
band, but, so far as we know, Cercolas has the 
best claim. With him she must have lived for 
a considerable time in the city of Mytilene, — a 
beautiful place of many gardens, surrounded by 
the blue waters of the iEgean Sea. She may have 
fallen in love with other men, and she may have 
ventured much for their society, but the story of 
Sappho's leap does, not seem to rest upon a very 
solid foundation. The cliff from which she is 



A POEM BY SAPPHO 185 

said to have leaped was used in early times, and 
even later, as the place for executing criminals. 
They were thrown from its lofty height into the 
sea that waited for them below. It is said that 
birds were fastened to the limbs of those who 
were to be thrown over, so that the fall might be 
broken, and little boats were sent out to pick up 
the criminal floating in the sea, who, if he sur- 
vived, was pardoned. Perhaps the throwing of 
prisoners from the rock had something to do with 
the story of Sappho's leap. Many students of 
Greek letters think the entire tale a fable derived 
from the myth of the love of Aphrodite and 
Adonis. 

It is generally believed that our poetess was 
an exceedingly beautiful woman. Plato, in his 
" Phaedrus," calls her so, but his reason is in 
no way connected with any knowledge of her face 
or figure. He thinks her a handsome woman 
because of the loveliness of her verse. Damocha- 
ris and many other ancient authors describe her 
as a woman of captivating presence, but I much 
doubt whether we should find her beautiful were 
she living now. Most of us have formed what 
impression we have of her from the picture by 
Alma-Tadema. He gives us a face full of ani- 
mal passion, almost brutally sensuous. In it 
there are no traces of genius, not a spark of that 
fire divine which made her perfect poems possible. 

I do not think we can at this late day form 
a correct and sufficient opinion of Sappho as a 
woman. All kinds of judgments have been 



186 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

rendered with regard to her. Six comedies are 
known to have been written having her name for 
the title. Most of them have been lost; of one 
by Antiphanes only three words remain to us. 
Countless modern plays and poems have dealt 
with the supposed story of her life. Gounod 
has given her name to an opera. The Queen 
of Roumania (" Carmen Sylva ") has idealized 
the life of Sappho. We have only a few frag- 
ments of her work left, but we have enough books 
about her to fill a library of considerable size. 
It may be that the world will at some time in the 
future discover other fragments, and even, it may 
be, some entire poems from the genius of Sappho. 
Her person and her life are of less concern to 
us. We care not so much about 

" The small dark body's Lesbian loveliness 
That held the fire eternal"; 

but for " the fire eternal " we do care, and for 
what its scented flames have given us of worth 
and beauty. 

Nearly all of Sappho's verses are of love, 
though the passion is expressed in many differ- 
ent metrical forms. She is the author of a num- 
ber of fragments of epigrams, odes, elegies, and 
epithalamiums. Her " Hymn to Venus " is be- 
yond question one of her best compositions. 
Some of her odes are of exquisite beauty, and some 
of the finest of these are addressed to women who 
may have been her lovers ; for unnatural vices 
were not frowned upon in her day as they are in 



A POEM BY SAPPHO 187 

ours. Suidas has preserved the names of three of 
the women with whom the poetess was intimate. 
The story of her amours with Anacreon is gen- 
erally discredited. It cannot be true, for Ana- 
creon was not born in time for any such disrepu- 
table relationship with the Lesbian singer. A 
comic poet has introduced into one of his plays 
the names of three men who appear as lovers of 
Sappho. Of course the theory of a second 
Sappho may be used to relieve our poetess of much 
of the obloquy that has come to attach itself to her 
name; but unfortunately for her there is but 
little foundation for the theory. There may 
have been many women bearing the name of 
Sappho in Mytilene, but there is no reason for 
thinking that the poetess knew any of them, or 
that there were among them any gifted with a 
genius for song. No, there never was a second 
Sappho, and it is to be feared there never will be. 
The exquisite beauty that distinguishes her verse 
must make our sweet singer of those far-away 
years absolutely unique. Not in Mytilene or 
elsewhere was there ever one woman who shared 
her genius or who could have written any of the 
songs of flawless music that the best scholarship 
attributes to her. In such high esteem was she 
held because of her work that statues of her were 
erected in the most honorable and conspicuous 
places. There was one in the Citadel at Athens. 
Pliny tells us of a painter named Leo who drew 
her portrait. Aristotle says that the Mytilen- 
ians honored her, but he does not tell us in 



188 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

what way. She seems to have been an exception 
to a general rule, for she was honored in her 
lifetime, and did not have to wait for post-mor- 
tem recognition. 



VIII 
DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 

M77 Karafypovei Oavdrov, dAAa euapecrret avraj, cos c/c 
tovtov evbs ovtos, <bv rj <f>vo~i<s iOeXec olov yap ecrrt to 
vedcrai /cat to yqpdaai, /cat to av^rjaaiy /cat to d/Cjttdcrat, 
/cat oSovTas, /cat yevetov, /cat 7roAias evey/cetv, /cat cireipai, 
/cat KVO<f>oprjo~ai, /cat dwoKyrjo-ai, Kat ret dAAa ret <j>vcnKa 
ivepyrjpLaTa ocra at tov gov (3lov co/oat cj>epovo~w, tolovto /cat 
to SiaXv6rjvai. 

— Marcus Aurelius. 

Imperial Caesar, dead, and turned to clay, 
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. 

— Shakespeare. 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 

FEW men die a natural death, — that is to 
say, a death occasioned by old age alone. 
A considerable number reach old age, and, of 
course, die in old age; but their death is rarely 
due to age itself. Some disease, accident, or 
deed of violence is in almost every case respon- 
sible for man's taking off. Naegeli, the Ger- 
man botanist, tells us that natural death does 
not occur in the vegetable kingdom. Trees 
more than a thousand years old come to their end, 
not by age, but through some catastrophe. Sel- 
dom does a tree die from gradual decay of its 
vitality. The famous dragon tree of the villa 
Oratava at Teneriffe was estimated to have had 
an age of between two and three thousand years. 
Its trunk was hollow, and yet it continued to live 
in good condition until at last it was overthrown 
by a storm. No doubt the storm would have left 
it standing had it been still young, but it was 
not age that killed the tree. The baobab is 
reputed to live from five to six thousand years, 
but its death is usually due to some catastrophe. 
Professor Loeb tells us that " valid evidence of 
the existence of natural death is not obtainable " 
in either man or plant. Still we know that the 
unfertilized eggs of the sea-hedgehog die a few 
hours after they have been discharged, and that 
surely looks something like natural death. 
Metchnikoff says: 

191 



192 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

"If natural death does exist, it must have ap- 
peared on the face of the earth long after the appear- 
ance of life. Weismann has suggested that death 
arose as an adaptation for the advantage of the 
species, — that is to say, in relation to the surround- 
ing conditions of existence, — and not as an absolute 
necessity inherent in the nature of the living sub- 
stance. He thought that, as worn organisms are no 
longer suited for reproduction or for the struggle 
for life, natural death is due to natural selection, it 
being necessary to maintain the species in a vigor- 
ous state by weeding out the debased individuals. 

" But the introduction of death for that purpose 
was superfluous, since the debility caused by old age 
in itself would eliminate the aged in the course of 
the struggle for existence. Violent death must have 
appeared almost as soon as living things came into 
being." 

The same writer, in a paper called " Studies 
in Natural Death," contends that there is an 
analogy between death and sleep, both being, in 
his opinion, due to the accumulation of poisons 
in the blood. If, then, natural death is the re- 
sult of toxic accumulation in the system, it is 
an open question whether it is really so very nat- 
ural after all. He says, " It may be supposed 
that as in sleep an instinctive need of rest is 
manifested, in natural death is also manifested 
man's instinctive aspiration toward death." He 
believes that " the aged often long for death in- 
stinctively, as tired people long for sleep," and 
concludes that there may be some instances of 
natural death, but that they are very rare. 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 193 

Most of us come to the end before we are very 
old. The man who dies of heart failure or of 
any other morbid condition of the body dies an 
unnatural death, for no death is natural but that 
which comes of old age. All sudden deaths must, 
in the very nature of the case, be unnatural, for 
the disintegrations of age are always slow. 

Sir Charles Blagden, the distinguished English 
physician and chemist, died so quietly that not a 
drop of coffee in the cup which he held in his 
hand was spilled. At the time of his death he 
was conversing with some friends, and the friends 
continued to converse among themselves for sev- 
eral minutes after his death without the faint- 
est suspicion of what had taken place. A clergy- 
man in the far West died seated in the pulpit 
while the people were singing a hymn which he 
had announced. After the hymn came the offer- 
ing, which consumed some time, and so it came 
to pass that no one knew the pastor was dead 
until he had been so for something like fifteen 
minutes. 

In a paper on " Ethan Brand," the hero of 
one of Hawthorne's short stories, which the 
reader may find in my " The Excursions of a 
Book-Lover," mention is made of the burial of 
an immense ingot of steel which contained the 
bodies of two workmen who were engulfed therein. 
The two men were caught in a stream of molten 
steel which, proceeding from a leaky furnace, 
fell into a pit in which they were at the time 
working. In one second not a vestige of the 



194 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

two men remained, and scarcely a puff arose to 
indicate their complete incineration. Another 
strange and even more distressing death, because 
not so quickly accomplished, was that of Henry 
Bailey, the son of a planter in Mississippi, who 
was killed by being packed in a bale of cotton 
at the ginnery of a man named John Glaze, 
near the village of Lemons. Young Bailey 
came to the gin with several wagon-loads of cot- 
ton sent by his father. In some unexplained 
manner he fell into the press without being no- 
ticed. The tragedy was discovered when a shoe 
heel was seen to be protruding as the bale was 
removed from the press. The lad was crushed 
beyond recognition, but his clothing made the 
identification complete. 

We are reminded in this connection of a cer- 
tain human brick which some time ago furnished 
interesting material for newspaper paragraph- 
ists. The story is not one of any unusual or 
strange kind of death, but rather of an extraor- 
dinary disposition of a dead body. The brick, 
which now reposes in a cemetery at West Rox- 
bury, Massachusetts, is composed of five parts of 
cement and one of ashes, the ashes being the mor- 
tal remains of a certain Herman Unger, who took 
his own life at a Boston hotel. Upon the brick 
are impressed the name of Mr. Unger, the date 
of his death, and the words, " Leave me in peace." 
It appears that Unger believed that the human 
body after death would be revived in the form 
of a flowering growth of some kind. This be- 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 195 

lief, which would seem to most of us a very pleas- 
ing one, was repulsive to him, and he set about 
discovering some way of thwarting nature. He 
had made up his mind that nothing should change 
him into a flower if he could by any possibility 
escape such contingency. To accomplish that 
end, he left a will directing that his body be 
cremated and that the ashes be mixed with suffi- 
cient cement to form solid rock. His request 
was complied with in every way, and the brick 
was forthwith made as directed. The inscrip- 
tion, which was of his own composing, was im- 
pressed upon the brick just before it became 
fixed and solid. 

To return to the earlier times of which we 
have already had something to say, it may in- 
terest the reader to recall the serio-comic death 
of Terpander, the harper, who, while singing in 
Sparta, opened his mouth very wide and thus 
tempted a thoughtless and waggish person, who 
had no pleasure in music though he stood by and 
listened, to throw a fig directly between the har- 
per's teeth. The fig strangled the musician. In 
very much the same way Drusus Pompeius, the 
son of Claudius Caesar, came to his death. He 
tossed a pear on high, to receive it again into 
his mouth. It so happened that the pear fell 
in such a way as to descend into his throat, and 
he choked to death before help could reach him. 
There is a curious story in Wanley's " Wonders 
of the Little World," about a certain priest who 



196 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

came to his death in much the same way that 
Terpander and the son of Claudius Caesar came 
to theirs. The priest, skilled in swimming and 
in groping for fish, had, in a deep place under 
the banks, caught a perch. The better to hold 
the fish, he put it into his mouth and so started 
to swim back to his companions. But the perch, 
struggling to be free, slipped down the priest's 
throat far enough to choke him to death. Pope 
Adrian was strangled while drinking spring- 
water, by an insect that fell into the glass. It is 
almost unbelievable that so slight a thing as an 
insect or a fly in a glass of water could choke a 
strong man, and yet that kind of an accident 
has happened more than once. The physicians 
have, in their literature, the reported case of a 
youth who grew so fast that he died. The boy 
could not assimilate enough food to keep him 
alive, and though he ate three generous meals 
every day, he nevertheless starved to death. 

Death is never a suitable theme for jest and 
merriment. The natural feeling of man in the 
presence of death is one of solemnity. In many 
European countries, and in some parts of South 
America, men lift the hat when a funeral pro- 
cession passes. We instinctively drop the voice 
to a whisper when we enter the house of mourn- 
ing. Noise and loud conversation are regarded 
as out of place and incongruous anywhere and 
at any time in connection with death. Of course 
it is possible that our peculiar bearing, attitude, 
and tone of voice, as well as the feelings that 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 197 

accompany such outward expression, are wholly 
artificial; for in nature nothing is found that 
suggests any of them. Wind and wave, light and 
shade, and all forces of the world are the same, 
whether men laugh or grieve. Nature reflects 
nothing of our inner mood. The noonday sun 
warms alike the infant in its cradle and the mur- 
derer bent on crime. 

Huxley said with great truth, " Cosmic evo- 
lution may teach us how the good and the evil 
tendencies of man may have come about; but in 
itself it is incompetent to furnish any better 
reason why what we call good is preferable to 
what we call evil than we had before." Vice 
and virtue, pain and pleasure, and all moral dis- 
tinctions go for nothing with the surrounding 
universe. The ethical world is an artificial one, 
built up within this unconcerned and unfeeling 
cosmos. Man lives in two worlds : the ethical 
is his, and he has it to himself, for he alone 
draws moral distinctions ; but the rude, unmoral, 
natural world goes its way with little regard for 
man's morals, thoughts, or feelings. Sometimes 
it even appears as though nature made, not only 
sport, but actual derision, of sorrows and dis- 
tresses. Men are even called to surrender life 
sometimes in ways provocative of anything but 
seriousness. 

iEschylus, one of the three great tragic writ- 
ers of Greece, was a man who had not only im- 
mortalized his name by great dramatic writings, 
but had also distinguished himself at Marathon, 



198 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

Plataea, and Salamis. Yet the method of his 
taking off was such as to provoke only laughter. 
Every drop of dignity was taken out of it. His 
worst enemy could have arranged for him no 
mortuary performance more ridiculous than the 
one gotten up for him by the great irresponsible 
world of nature and circumstance. iEschylus 
was walking in a field, doubtless cogitating some 
dramatic problem, when an eagle, mistaking the 
dramatist's bald head for a stone, let fall upon 
it a tortoise, hoping thus to break the creature's 
shell. The eagle lost a good fat tortoise, and 
the tortoise escaped injury, but the dramatist's 
skull was split open, and so he came to his dis- 
tressing but undignified death. 

Think of the unconscious wit of Nature in 
the choking of Anacreon with a grape-stone. 
He was eighty-five years old and it was time 
for him to die in one way or another; but who 
would have thought of choking the one great 
poet celebrated as the poet of wine and love 
with a grape-stone? We rarely associate death 
with laughter, and yet the fantastic world of 
circumstance has shaken death and laughter to- 
gether many times. Chalchas, the soothsayer, 
outlived the day predicted for his death, which 
struck him as so comical that he burst into a 
fit of immoderate laughter, from which he died. 
In the same way expired Marquette. He was 
convulsed with fatal merriment on seeing a 
monkey trying to pull on a pair of boots. So 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 199 

also died Philomenes, who was seized with an 
equally disastrous merriment when he came sud- 
denly upon an ass that was devouring with greed 
the choice figs that had been prepared for his 
own dessert. Zeuxis, the painter, who in early 
days perfected the management of light and 
shade, and who, having become rich, gave away 
his pictures because he thought them so valuable 
that no price was sufficient for their purchase, 
died of laughter. He painted, it is recorded, a 
bunch of grapes that were so natural that a bird 
endeavored to eat them. When he saw the little 
creature try to dine upon painted fruit he fell 
to laughing, and his laughter was so immoderate 
that he straightway died. 

What happened to Agathocles, the tyrant of 
Syracuse, seems well suited to the ill desert of 
the man. He came from humble life, for he was 
the son of a potter, and carried to the end of 
his days the vulgar spirit and manners of his 
youth. He became a soldier, and after a time 
rose to the rank and power of a general. At 
last he became master of the entire island of 
Sicily. He was a man of good talents, but san- 
guinary, faithless, and cruel. All the men of 
his time and country hated him, and at last, as 
might have been expected, they brought him to 
a violent death. The story is that his son gave 
him a poisoned toothpick, which rendered his 
mouth gangrenous so that he could not speak. 
While in that miserable and helpless condition 



200 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

he was declared to be dead, and, having been 
stretched upon a funeral pile, he was burned 
alive. 

Heraclius, the Ephesian, suffered from dropsy. 
The physicians of his day were not unlike the 
medical men of our own time: they were per- 
fectly sure of both their diagnosis and their line 
of treatment. They advised Heraclius to anoint 
himself with cow-dung, and to sit, while so 
anointed, in the light and warmth of the sun. 
His servants left him alone, for of course he was 
not an agreeable companion while plastered over 
with filth. Seeing him unattended, some dogs, 
supposing him to be a wild beast, fell upon him 
and his death was the result. The mistake of the 
dogs does not seem so strange, for even in these 
later days men are frequently shot in the Adiron- 
dack Mountains by guides and others who mis- 
take them for deer. 

One would hardly think death by a stroke of 
lightning a desirable kind of death, and yet 
there have been those who desired to die by an 
electric current. The American patriot, James 
Otis, whose fame is inseparably associated with 
our war for Independence, wished that he might 
at last perish by the sudden discharge of a 
thunderbolt, and it is recorded that his wish was 
granted. He was standing in the open doorway 
of his house in Andover during a heavy shower, 
watching the fall of the rain, when a blinding 
flash from the heavens stretched him lifeless upon 
the door-sill. The Emperors Anastasius and 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 201 

Cams died by lightning, as did also Strabo, the 
father of Pompey the Great. 

Death by an electric shock is commonly 
thought to be painless, and for that reason 
some governments make use of it in the execution 
of criminals. Doubtless electrocution is a more 
merciful kind of punishment than were many of 
the penal inflictions of earlier days ; but it is by 
no means certain that the electric current oc- 
casions no pain. The current must bring with it 
a terrific concussion, notwithstanding all that 
has been said about its velocity being so great 
that the brain is paralyzed before the nerves can 
communicate any sense of shock. A number of 
persons who have recovered from shocks of high 
voltage have testified to the great distress en- 
dured. Nicola Tesla, one of the most distin- 
guished of electricians, said: 

" Unless three things combine in the taking of life 
by electricity, the pain of such a death must be 
something frightful. The three things are a perfect 
apparatus, a current of sufficient power, and an 
expert to apply the current. That many criminals 
who have been * electrocuted ' might have been 
resuscitated is generally admitted. Any person who 
may be resuscitated is, of course, not dead. You 
cannot revive a dead man. We will suppose the 
failure was due to an insufficient electric discharge; 
but it might have been due to a shortcoming in either 
or both of the other factors. There can be no guar- 
antee that the apparatus is always in an absolutely 
perfect condition; and how can we be sure that the 



202 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

expert is in every way an expert? And even if a 
man be an expert, he is still human and liable to 
make a mistake or blunder of one kind or another. 
Think for a moment what such a mistake must mean 
to the criminal who is supposed to be killed by the 
electric discharge! The fact that the person sub- 
jected to the discharge gives no sign of life has little 
or nothing to do with the matter. In many cases 
he could be revived; in other words, he was never 
dead." 

Still further, the French scientist, d'Arsonval, 
has published it as his opinion that a consider- 
able number of electrocuted persons could be re- 
stored to life with little effort; and he tells us 
that in his opinion death by electricity is one of 
the most distressing kinds of death of which we 
have knowledge. 

An electrician connected with the Hudson 
River Water Power Company, at Saratoga, New 
York, received by accident, in the month of Feb- 
ruary, 1906, the tremendous charge of '30,000 
volts, and though he was severely injured, the 
charge did not kill him. In the case of a mur- 
derer executed in an Ohio penitentiary, the elec- 
tric current had to be passed through the crim- 
inal four times ; and in the case of another mur- 
derer in the same penitentiary, five applications 
were required. In the latter case eighteen min- 
utes elapsed between the time when the prisoner 
was placed in the chair and the moment when he 
was pronounced dead. 

It is seldom absolutely certain that the crim- 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 203 

inal is killed by the electric current. In too 
many cases it has been quite evident that resusci- 
tation could have been effected without much 
difficulty. Beyond question it is in a large num- 
ber of cases the surgeon's knife that deprives the 
prisoner of his life. But for the so-called " au- 
topsy," which is frequently an inexcusable vivi- 
section, the failure of the electric current to make 
death sure would be more apparent. I know 
of no state that has thus far dared to adopt 
electrocution without adding to it the more 
deadly " autopsy." It is not surprising that 
physicians and surgeons who dissect living ani- 
mals in their laboratories without any feeling of 
kindness or regret, find no moral difficulty in 
conducting a so-called " autopsy " very soon 
after an electrocution, with full knowledge of all 
the facts in the case; but it is surprising that a 
civilized state can render an atrocity of the kind 
possible. 

Arago years ago divided lightning into four 
kinds, each distinguished by its own peculiar 
form. Most of the fatal strokes come of what 
he described as " zigzag lightning," a kind that 
appears in sharp and jagged lines of intense 
brightness, traversing the heavens with extreme 
velocity. The more common name for this kind 
of an electric discharge is " forked lightning." 
Arago called the second variety " sheet light- 
ning," because of the diffuseness of its glow. The 
peril from this form of the electric fluid is not 
so great as is that which comes of the " zigzag " 



204 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

kind. The third sort of lightning described by 
Arago was named by that philosopher " ball 
lightning." He was unable to explain its na- 
ture. His fourth kind he called " heat light- 
ning," — a very misleading term. Many people 
think that because this sort of discharge is 
usually seen at the end of a very hot day, it 
must in the nature of the case be in some way 
caused by the heat itself. The fact that it oc- 
curs without the immediate presence of a storm, 
and without thunder, gives color to the popular 
belief. The illumination described as " heat 
lightning " is nothing but the reflection of elec- 
tric discharges in a distant storm. 

That the electric current does not so surely oc- 
casion death as the students of criminology who 
advocate the electrocution of murderers profess 
to believe, is made clear by the most cursory 
glance at statistics. These show that lightning 
does not always kill those whom it strikes. 
Lightning once struck a church containing three 
hundred people; it slightly injured a hundred, 
and made thirty ill, but it killed only six. Ac- 
cording to a recent authority a bolt of lightning 
that struck ninety-two persons in Schleswig-Hol- 
stein killed ten of them. It paralyzed twenty, 
stupefied fifty-five, and slightly injured seven 
persons. In 1905 lightning struck a tent con- 
taining two hundred and fifty people ; only two 
were killed, the rest soon recovered. From 1901 
to 1910 lightning caused one hundred and 
twenty-four deaths in England and Wales, a 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 205 

yearly rate of one in every 3,000,000 inhabi- 
tants. Of those who were killed, one hundred 
and eight were men and sixteen were women. In 
the United States the annual death-rate from 
lightning is comparatively high, about ten in 
every million. The difference is probably caused 
by the fact that thunderstorms are more frequent 
here than in England, and that more persons 
are engaged in outdoor work. 

It has long been an open question how Rous- 
seau came by his death. Dr. Raspail a few years 
ago filled the papers and magazines of this and 
other countries with such support as he could 
give to the theory that Rousseau was murdered. 
He examined with great care the death-mask of 
Rousseau made by Houdon, and from the study 
of it he came to the conclusion that the philoso- 
pher's death was occasioned by violence. He 
discovered, or thought he discovered, three dis- 
tinct wounds upon the cast of the skull. One of 
these he found at the corner of the right eye ; the 
second, which was deeper, appeared on the left 
cheek not far from the nostril; while the third 
was on the forehead, and must have crushed the 
skull. Of course any or all of the wounds de- 
scribed, if they were real and not the result of 
a lively imagination, might have been occasioned 
by an attempt at suicide. Certain it is that had 
Rousseau desired to take his own life, no moral 
restraint of any kind would have prevented him 
from doing so. He said in his " NouveUe Hel- 
oise," " The more I reflect upon it [suicide] the 



206 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

more I find that the question reduces itself to 
this fundamental proposition: To seek one's own 
good, and avoid one's own harm in that which 
hurts not another." 

I do not believe that Rousseau took his own 
life; I think he was too great a coward even to 
contemplate the deed. If ever there was a mean 
and contemptible soul encased in a human body, 
that soul belonged to the brilliant and vile- 
minded author of " The Social Contract," " The 
New Eloisa," and " Confessions." Of course 
Therese Levasseur, his mistress, and later his 
wife, might have put an end to his existence. 
She had ample opportunity, and it seems to the 
writer of this paper that any woman whose life 
had been in any wise connected with his might 
feel herself justified in ridding the world of his 
presence. Had, however, the ridding process 
taken place at too early a period in his life, we 
should have been deprived of " Confessions," 
which work, it must be conceded, is a human 
document not without value. We are not out of 
the way in calling it a " human " document, for 
it was practically the man himself. There may 
be some measure of exaggeration in the book, for 
its author was vain of his evil ways, but never- 
theless he wanted to be thought as bad as he was, 
and he was very much as his " Confessions " rep- 
resents him to have been. That the book is well 
worth reading no one who has any acquaintance 
with it will deny. No doubt " coarse feeding 
makes coarse flesh," and " evil communications 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 207 

corrupt good manners " ; yet one may reap a har- 
vest of good from pathology. Both health and 
disease have their word of wisdom, and we are 
not surprised to learn that both Emerson and 
George Eliot found Rousseau's " Confessions " 
the most interesting book they had ever read. 
Those who think they have a complete transla- 
tion in their hands when they read the book in 
English are mistaken. There are parts of the 
work that are generally left undisturbed in the 
original French. That the " confessions " are 
real confessions and not something gotten up for 
the occasion one will see at a glance when once 
he has made himself acquainted with the author. 
It is, in truth, one of the few real books of the 
world. 

The woman who is charged with having killed 
Rousseau was with him at Ermenonville when he 
died, and it is known that he suspected her of 
intimacy with one of the grooms of M. de Gi- 
rardin, in whose rustic cottage the great French 
author passed the closing years of his eccentric 
life. 

It was at one time thought by a few who gave 
much time to the study of Rousseau's life that 
the great writer endeavored to kill himself by 
swallowing arsenic. There is little to support 
such belief. Rousseau was sentimental, egotis- 
tic, and opinionated. He had much to say about 
himself, and he was doubtless much of a hero in 
his own eyes. But one thing is, I think, certain, 
and that is that he was first, last, and always 



208 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

a self-indulgent coward. It would require very 
strong evidence to convince me that Rousseau 
plucked up sufficient spirit to destroy his own 
life. He may have found life too bitter for his 
liking, but there is every reason to believe that 
he found death even less attractive. 

A few years ago a communication signed " C. 
I. B." appeared in one of the New York papers. 
Its author, summing up the evidence for and 
against Dr. Raspail's theory with regard to the 
death of Rousseau, wrote thus : 

" It may be interesting to recall that some four- 
teen years ago, when, at the instance of Senator 
Hamel, the tombs of Rousseau and Voltaire under- 
neath the Pantheon were opened to ascertain 
definitely whether the remains of those two great 
men were really there or not, the present writer wit- 
nessed the exhumation, and, together with M. Jules 
Claretie of the French Academy, saw the skulls of 
Voltaire and of Rousseau. They were both in a 
fairly good state of preservation, particularly the 
skull of Rousseau, which was solid and massive. I 
held it in my hands and examined it, but I certainly 
did not notice any traces of the wounds described by 
Dr. Raspail, although there was a small place on 
the top of the forehead where the skull had fallen or 
disappeared, leaving a sort of cavity." 

I have not succeeded in discovering the identity 
of " C. I. B.," but his information seems to be 
first-hand. I have not the slightest suspicion 
that Rousseau contemplated suicide, nor do I 
believe that Therese Levasseur or any other 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 209 

woman had aught to do with his death. He 
died as most of us will no doubt die, — from nat- 
ural causes. 

It has been supposed that Shelley was 
murdered. The supposition has no other foun- 
dation than the confession of a dying sea-robber 
who has left it on record that he, with other pi- 
rates, captured the poet and his boat, and that, 
enraged at finding no treasure with Shelley, they 
cast the poet into the sea and sunk his boat. 
We are too prone to believe death-bed confes- 
sions. There is a general belief that " they 
breathe truth that breathe their words in pain." 
It does not follow that because a man is near 
his end he will tell the truth. It may be he does 
not know what the truth is, and it not infre- 
quently happens that the approach of death 
makes but slight impression upon the conscience 
or moral sense. Most of the murderers who die 
upon the scaffold or in the electric chair deny 
their guilt, and go into eternity with a lie upon 
their lips. There is nothing in the approach of 
death to make a man either better or worse. 
Men usually die as they live. As the tree falls 
so it lies. I see no more reason for believing 
that Shelley was murdered than I do for think- 
ing that Rousseau came to a violent end. 

In the days of Caesar Borgia poisoned rings 
were used for criminal purposes, and even now 
such rings are used for both suicide and murder. 
Not long ago a man who resided in Brooklyn, 
New York, concealed in a very beautiful ring 



210 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

a poisonous preparation which he employed to 
rid himself at once of both neuralgia and life. 
Hannibal, it is recorded, fearing that he would 
be delivered up to the Romans, swallowed a 
poison which he had carried with him in the 
hollow of a ring. It is a long stretch of time 
from the Brooklyn suicide to the terror-stricken 
general, but the crime of one age seems to be 
that of all ages, for human nature remains the 
same from generation to generation. It is said 
that Demosthenes died of a poisoned ring. In 
the same way died the keeper of the Roman treas- 
ures, after the robbery by Crassus of the gold 
which Camillus had placed there. He broke the 
stone of his ring in his mouth, and allowed the 
poison to escape. We do not know just what 
substance was concealed under the stone, but in 
all probability it was strychnine, which was in 
common use among the ancients. The jewel 
over the poison cavity was so closely fitted to the 
ring that even a modern jeweler might not dis- 
cover it. Pope Alexander VI had a key which 
he used for opening a cabinet. The key was 
poisoned in the handle. A small, sharp pin, 
when the handle was pressed, punctured the skin 
sufficiently to allow the poison to enter the body. 
When the pope wished to rid himself of an ob- 
noxious person, he handed him the key and asked 
him to unlock the cabinet. The lock was made 
to turn somewhat stiffly so that there might be 
pressure sufficient to puncture the skin. Some 
of the Borgia rings were so constructed that the 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 211 

hand, when passed over a glass of wine, could 
discharge the poison into the wine without its 
being observed. 

One of the strangest of deaths was that of a 
clergyman who expired while conducting funeral 
services. He had made a short prayer and had 
taken his seat to allow a quartette to sing the 
hymn, " Nearer, my God, to Thee," and during 
the singing he closed his eyes and rested his 
head against the coffin, near which he was seated. 
No one, however, thought his attitude unusual, 
until the time came for him to rise and begin 
the reading of the Scripture. His failure to rise 
brought at once a physician to his side, and the 
announcement was made that he had passed 
away. One can easily see how great a shock such 
a death at such a time must have been to people 
who, attending the funeral of their friend and 
neighbor, witnessed as well the sudden death of 
their pastor. 

There is somewhere an account of an even 
more shocking death at a funeral. An under- 
taker who was superintending the lowering of a 
coffin into an open grave experienced a sudden 
attack of heart-failure, and, uttering a distress- 
ing cry, fell headforemost into the grave. He 
died instantly. 

In the New York "Tribune" of April 25, 
1906, there was a very startling story of the 
shooting of three men who were on a blazing roof 
in San Francisco, in order to prevent them from 
being burned alive. They were upon the roof of 



212 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

the Windsor Hotel on Market Street, and it was 
impossible to get them down. Rather than see 
them fall with the roof and roast to death, a 
military officer directed his men to shoot them, 
which they did in the presence of hundreds of 
spectators. In the great fire in San Francisco, 
following the earthquake, there were many tragic 
and remarkable deaths. Could they all be re- 
corded in a book for general reading, we should 
have a wonderful exhibit of the heroism of our 
often misunderstood and pitifully undervalued 
human nature. 

One of the most repulsive and horrible of 
deaths was recorded in the New York " Sun " of 
August 31, 1904. Alfred Thurston, a man who, 
in dime museums, pretended to eat glass, live 
frogs, and writhing snakes, and who performed 
various unseemly feats for money, being, as the 
phrase has it, " out of a job," went into the bar- 
room of a New York hotel, carrying with him in 
a box a huge diamond-back rattlesnake. He 
deliberately removed the reptile from the box in 
which it had been confined and placed its head in 
his mouth. The snake stung him in the tongue 
and he died seven hours later in great agony. 
Thurston's death was far more repulsive than 
that of Cleopatra, who applied to her breast a 
living asp. The man's mind may have been un- 
settled by want of success in obtaining employ- 
ment, and perhaps he was in some measure the 
victim of that peculiar vanity and love of atten- 
tion which so often accompanies the early stages, 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 213 

and sometimes the later stages as well, of insan- 
ity. A large number of the picturesque and 
startling crimes that alarm and shock society are 
due to the insane self-exaltation and egotism of 
unbalanced minds. Doubtless many of the evil 
deeds of the English suffragettes come, not so 
much from a desire for political equality, as from 
an imperious and insatiable hunger for no- 
toriety. 

Other ^nimals than the snake have been made 
use of by suicides. A nobleman in Rio de 
Janeiro, the Viscount Almeida, invited a number 
of his friends to a sumptuous repast. After 
the wine had been disposed of and a few witty 
stories had been told, the viscount led the party 
to a cage of lions that had been hired from a 
traveling menagerie. He described the animals 
and gave his guests some diverting accounts of 
their habits and dispositions, after which he sud- 
denly opened the door of the cage and threw 
himself before one of the largest and most fero- 
cious of the animals. The lions pounced upon 
him and before he could be dragged from the 
cage life was nearly extinct. 

Not all strange deaths are distressing, though 
from what this paper has thus far presented, 
the reader may be tempted to believe no death in 
any wise agreeable that has in it aught of the 
dramatic element. Men die in all kinds of ways, 
and the unusual is as likely as any other to be 
the way one would choose for himself were the 
manner of his departure wholly a matter of his 



214 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

own choosing. Some time ago in London, at a 
musical party given by Sir Nathaniel Barnaby, 
honorary vice-president of the Institution of 
Naval Architects, a young lady sang with great 
tenderness and beauty of expression, a song 
called " Good Night." All who were present 
were delighted. But as the last words of the 
song rang out clear and sweet, suddenly the 
singer dropped dead. It was a strange and 
startling ending of both the song and life itself, 
and yet, if we leave out of our thought the youth 
of the singer, the death was not an unpleasant 
one. 

Some time ago in this country a young lady 
died while her lover was asking her to become his 
wife. Doubtless the lover would have been ac- 
cepted had not Death returned for her an answer 
he little dreamed of receiving. Was it well she 
lost the crown of womanhood, — the happiness of 
married love? Who can say? Not always are 
we happy in the possession of that which at first 
we ardently covet. The brightest dream, like 
the fairest flower, must fade; and sometimes for 
both dream and flower the summer ends too soon. 
But of this at least we are sure, — a death like 
hers, sudden and without mental distress, has 
been the desire of many hearts. 

Dr. Alexander Adam, the distinguished head- 
master of the high school in Edinburgh, did not 
know that the shadows that were falling around 
him were those of death ; he thought the day was 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 215 

drawing to its end and that it was time to dis- 
miss the school. " It grows dark, boys ; you may 
go ! " he gently said, and so fell asleep forever. 

We naturally think of death caused by falling 
from a balloon or an airship as one of the most 
dreadful of which we have knowledge, yet Fritz 
Kahn, the German psychologist, believes that a 
death so caused is not exceptionally painful. 
Heim fell from an airship a great distance and 
for a number of days he was unconscious. He 
told the Swiss Alpine Club that when he com- 
menced his fall his first thought was that he 
would be unable to deliver the address he had 
promised that club. He wondered who would 
have to tell his family the news of his death. It 
also flashed over his mind that if he could re- 
move his spectacles he would save his eyes from 
damage that might be caused by broken glass. 
He had no fear and no pain, but had in his 
ears a soft sound as of far-away music. 

A curious kind of death was that which occa- 
sionally overtook a Roman soldier. Roman co- 
horts carried in place of the modern musket a 
long spear terminating in a sharp and polished 
metallic point. They sometimes put their spears 
aside when a thunder-storm came upon them 
while they were in camp. Of course they knew 
nothing about the nature of an electric bolt* 
General opinion held lightning to be Jove's 
greater spear, which when angry he hurled at his 
foe. When an electric storm overtook an army 



216 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

engaged in battle, the spears could not be dis- 
pensed with, and the result was in some cases 
death from what was called in those days the 
" Divine Rage." Pliny, in his " Natural His- 
tory," describes the glowing stars that settled 
upon sail-yards and masts of ships. Livy and 
Caesar wrote of scintillating balls, the nature of 
which we now understand. The French and 
Spaniards of the present time call those electric 
balls St. Elmo's fires, and sometimes the fires of 
St. Peter or St. Nicholas. They are not uncom- 
mon. Count de Forbin upon one occasion saw 
as many as thirty such illuminations blazing 
upon different parts of a ship in which he was 
traveling. The illuminations were accompanied 
by loud sounds as of exploding gunpowder. 
Not long ago a French soldier was shot by an 
electric bolt that hit the bayonet attached to his 
musket ; and, strange to say, another soldier had 
all the brass buttons on his coat melted and also 
the metal attached to his cartridge-box, and yet 
he was not himself injured. Some years ago an 
old sailor had his wooden leg struck by lightning. 
The leg was splintered into small fragments, but 
the old tar was only stunned. 

It would be no difficult thing to turn this paper 
treating of singular ways of dying into one con- 
cerning itself with narrow and unusual escapes 
from death. But that I do not intend to do, 
though I may here and there add a narrative of 
some such escape, by way of variety. There is 
a story of the kind that seems to me to be pe- 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 217 

culiarly deserving of a place in this connection. 
It is of a woman who, in the days when large 
and substantial crinolines were worn, determined 
to destroy her own life. She walked out to the 
middle of High Bridge, and after taking one long 
look at upper New York City, climbed over the 
rail and leaped into the air. She had not 
dropped more than a foot or two when her hoop 
skirt, or crinoline, expanded into a parachute in 
which she descended with great deliberation and 
perfect safety. A large number of spectators 
witnessed the descent. She came down with her 
legs exposed to view and dangling in the air, 
while her head was on a level with her expanded 
crinoline. She descended in graceful undula- 
tions, making what the police justice described 
as " an indecent exposure of her lower extremi- 
ties." 

There is a curious story of voluntary trance 
or simulation of death preserved in Mrs. Crowe's 
" Nightside of Nature." I can do no better 
than reproduce the story in the author's own 
words : 

" Doctor Cheyne, the Scottish physician, who died 
in 1742, relates the case of Colonel Townshend, who 
could, to all appearance, die whenever he pleased: 
his heart ceased to beat, there was no perceptible res- 
piration, and his whole frame became cold and rigid 
as death itself; the features being shrunk and color- 
less, and the eye glazed and ghastly. He would 
continue in this state for several hours, and then 
gradually revive; but the revival does not appear 



218 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

to have been an effort of will, or, rather, we are not 
informed whether it was so or not. The doctor who 
attended the colonel states that his patient said he 
could ' die or expire when he pleased,' and yet, by 
an effort, or somehow, he could come to life again. 
He performed the experiment in the presence of 
three medical men, one of whom kept his hand on 
his heart, another held his wrist, and the third placed 
a looking-glass before his lips; and they found that 
all traces of respiration and pulsation gradually 
ceased, insomuch that, after consulting about his con- 
dition for some time, they were leaving the room, 
persuaded that he was really dead, when signs of 
life appeared, and he slowly revived. He did not 
die while repeating the experiment, as has been 
sometimes asserted." 

Death did not come to Henry Close in any 
strange way, for that eccentric man died at home, 
in his own bed, and of a natural cause. But 
nevertheless Mr. Close interested himself in the 
preservation of his physical frame, and in the 
construction of a tomb that was to receive his 
body when death had done its work. During the 
last years of his life he spent most of his time 
and large sums of money in perfecting his plans. 
He wanted, he said, " a scientific burial." He 
had made up his mind to continue his presence 
in this world so far as concerned his body, and 
he regretted that it was not within his power to 
parallel with his own experience that of the Wan- 
dering Jew in the matter of long life on earth. 
He left money with the corporation of St. 
Michael's Cemetery at Birdsboro, Pennsylvania, 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 219 

with the interest of which his tomb and the lot 
connected therewith were to be kept in perfect 
order. For years Close lived a recluse, engaged 
in experiments the nature of which was not re- 
vealed until he died. . Then it became known 
that all his study had been concentrated on 
evolving a method of burial which he believed 
would prevent the decomposition of his body. 

Notes left by him disclosed his one ambition 
to be " to cheat the worms after death." He 
was determined that his body should remain in- 
tact for ages. Not long ago he superintended 
the construction of a mammoth vault in St. 
Michael's Cemetery, at Birdsboro. The vault 
was built of brick, faced with plates of steel, be- 
tween which cement was poured. A granite slab 
weighing three tons was placed on it. 

Before his death he designed and had made an 
outer case of phosphor bronze, weighing a ton, 
and a coffin of ironwood. He engaged the best 
mechanics obtainable for this work, paying them 
big wages. He ordered that after his death 
the bronze case should be hermetically sealed and 
caulked with molten lead. John B. Rutherford, 
an attorney, was retained by Close to superin- 
tend the burial, and five hundred dollars was be- 
queathed to him for this service. 

The foregoing may appear to some who read 
this paper little more than a morbid or abnormal 
desire and a vicious waste of money. The de- 
sire was certainly unusual, and no one can deny 
that it was eccentric, but it can hardly be called 



220 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

morbid. Many persons who never discuss the 
matter dread the slow corruption of the grave. 
Cremation is in some ways an improvement upon 
earth-burial, but it also involves the disintegra- 
tion of the body. Few know that it is no very 
difficult thing to treat a dead body in such a way 
that it will become practically indestructible. 
The body of the great Italian patriot Mazzini 
has been rendered incorruptible. The body of 
President Lincoln is so embalmed that in all 
probability time can have no effect upon it. If 
two thousand years hence his tomb should be 
opened, his face will appear precisely as it ap- 
peared during his life ; not a feature will be al- 
tered. 

Most interesting and weird is this strange ac- 
count of the death of a Buddhist priest which 
appeared some years ago in a New York paper. 
The author writes as follows : 

" It is an exceedingly rare thing for a foreigner to 
be permitted to witness the death of a Buddhist 
priest, and it was only after a residence of nearly 
twelve years in China that the opportunity came to 
me. 

" Old Ting Ho-Sheng, head priest of the ' Temple 
of the Spirit Light/ I had known by sight for sev- 
eral years, and had a more intimate acquaintance 
with him the summer he died; but I did not expect 
to be a witness of his death, or to see him die sitting 
up. Not only did ' old Ting ' die sitting up, but he 
was put into his coffin and buried that way. 

" Disease and native treatment had already placed 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 221 

the seal of death upon the old man, so that at my 
second visit I could only tell the attendants that his 
hours were few. Returning to the old priest's 
rooms a little later, I found him sitting on a broad 
stool facing the outer door, clad in his fine priestly 
robes of yellow silk. Being long past conscious- 
ness, he was supported by the attendants in this 
position, with his legs crossed, each foot resting upon 
the opposite thigh, sole directed upward — an ex- 
ceedingly difficult and, in fact, almost impossible 
position to assume in life. The hands were placed, 
palms together, up before his face, the whole atti- 
tude being that which represents Buddha in the state 
of Nirvana — and the old man was very near that 
state. The great anxiety of those in attendance 
was that he should not be placed in his coffin until 
he was really dead; although I could not bring him 
back to life, they were willing that I should judge 
when he was dead. Holding a small mirror in front 
of his face, I waited until there was no more mois- 
ture deposited upon it. 

" In the meantime preparations were continually 
going on around me for further ceremonies. A large 
pail of paper ' cash ' had been placed outside the 
door, on top of which was a document I was not al- 
lowed to see, but which, from what I could learn, 
was his history as related to his accession to the 
priesthood and life in it. 

" Upon his being pronounced dead, a flaming torch 
was applied to the * cash ' by a young priest, — for- 
mer disciple, and now successor to the lands and 
buildings of the old man sitting before him. No 
sooner was the paper well ablaze than the young 
man prostrated himself before it, bumping his head 



FIRESIDE PAPERS 

on the ground the requisite number of times, for 
every movement in every ceremony of the Chinese 
is regulated by rites as inflexible as law. 

" The next step in the strange death scene was 
the placing of the body in its upright coffin. The 
front and top were removed and yellow silk cushions 
put in the bottom, on which the old man was placed 
as gently as possible consistent with the awkward- 
ness of his position. Numerous small cushions and 
wads of thin paper were put in around him, a pillow 
under each elbow to sustain the arms in their up- 
right position, and then the front was slid into place. 
More packing was done from the top until his body 
was immovable and the coffin filled, the yellow silk 
knot of his hat being the last I ever saw of old 
Ting Ho-Sheng, who shall sit and wait until time 
and decay do their work in altering his position." 

An eleven-year-old son of Mr. Owen Dorse was 
the victim of an accident that cost him his life. 
He, with his brother and a number of other boys, 
was playing about the pipe used for compressing 
air in testing the air-brake hose on the cars in 
the Baltimore and Ohio yards. While he was 
seated at one end of the pipe some one turned 
on the air-cock, and the full force of the air, 
under a pressure of one hundred pounds to the 
square inch, struck him. He was injured inter- 
nally, and suffered excruciating agony until he 
died. 

It is interesting to see how fond a man may 
become of any one of the detached members of 
his mutilated body. There is a man in Massa- 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 223 

chusetts who every year journeys all the way to 
Gettysburg upon the anniversary of the great 
battle which took place there, for the purpose 
of decorating the grave of his leg which, in the 
cemetery at that place, is marked by a costly 
stone. He spends some time at the grave in 
recalling the terrible conflict which cost him so 
great a price. Before leaving the grave he cov- 
ers it with flowers. In a number of graves in dif- 
ferent cemeteries of the land there rest single 
legs, arms, and other parts of human bodies. A 
gentleman who lost an arm in a railroad accident 
had the severed member encased in an expensive 
coffin, and but for the counsel of his friends would 
have given it an elaborate funeral. I am in- 
formed that there is in a western graveyard a 
stone marking the resting place of a right hand. 
Upon the stone it is stated that the hand was 
that of a skillful pianist who buried with the lost 
member his hope and ambition. 

It is reported (I know not with how much 
truth) that Brigham Young, President of the 
Church of the Latter-Day Saints, and a leader 
among the Mormons, requested a few days before 
his death that his coffin should be made large 
enough for him to turn over in. The request, if 
really made, was not so foolish as may at first 
appear. Young was a very large man, and he 
had always prized above most men freedom of 
motion. He could not endure confinement of 
any kind. It is not strange that he looked for- 
ward to the hopeless confinement of the grave 



224 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

with horror. Hundreds of men have the same 
feeling, though but few give expression to it. It 
is impossible for us to unthink our own exist- 
ence. We always think of ourselves as con- 
scious. When we speak of ourselves, we mean 
body as well as soul. Thus it comes to pass that 
when we imagine ourselves in the grave, it is 
always as consciously there. We are well aware 
that we shall not know we are in the grave 
when we are there, but, as has been said, we 
cannot imagine ourselves ignorant of the fact 
that we are there. Thus, distressing as it is, 
we always, when we contemplate our burial, con- 
template being buried alive. Young, like all the 
rest of us, thus contemplated his inhumation, and 
the one thing about it that distressed him most 
was the close confinement. He was a coarse man 
and took a coarse view of things, and so I hardly 
think it strange, all things considered, that he 
made the request he is reported to have made. 

But though Young was a coarse man, he was 
not an ignorant one, and it is possible that he 
had in mind the repulsive disposal of the remains 
of William the Conqueror who, in the year 1087, 
was entombed in St. Stephen's Abbey, Caen, Nor- 
mandy. The corpse of the king was abandoned 
by the nobles and by all his followers, and not 
even the humblest of his servants showed any re- 
gard for either the character or the exalted sta- 
tion of the sovereign. He was despoiled of his 
armor, which was very valuable, of his beautiful 
apparel, and of whatever he had that was worth 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 225 

the taking ; and his naked body was left upon the 
floor. No preparations were made for a funeral 
until a certain country knight conveyed the body 
to Caen in Normandy. At Caen a band of monks 
received the corpse, and were about to do it 
honor when a great fire occurred in the neigh- 
borhood, and the monks hastened to extinguish 
it. The body remained for a considerable time 
unattended; but when the monks returned, the 
funeral sermon, which was droned in a careless 
and perfunctory manner, was ended, and the stone 
coffin was placed in the earth in the chancel. 

As the body was laid in the coffin there stood 
up one Anselm Fitz- Arthur and forbade the bur- 
ial, declaring that the dead king had robbed him 
of his inheritance, and that the very place se- 
lected for the monarch's tomb was the floor of 
his father's house which the monarch had vio- 
lently taken in order to build a church. " There- 
fore," said he, " I challenge this ground, and, 
in the name of God, forbid that the body of 
this despoiler be covered with the earth of my 
inheritance." The funeral services were thus 
brought to a sudden and dramatic conclusion, 
and one hundred pounds were paid to Fitz-Ar- 
thur in order to secure to the monarch the tomb 
which had been prepared for his body. The 
corpse had to be pressed down, the coffin not 
being large enough, and the result was one as 
unpleasant to describe as it was offensive to ex- 
perience. Only two or three monks were brave 
enough to remain at the post of duty. There 



226 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

have been other troubles of the same kind, and 
it is quite likely that the one already related, or 
some other, had a measure of influence over the 
mind of Brigham Young. 

The death, in 1891, of Washington Irving 
Bishop, the famous mind-reader, awakened at the 
time great interest. Physicians and the laity 
were desirous of knowing all that could be known 
about the occult and mysterious powers of Mr. 
Bishop. He died at the Lambs' Club, where he 
had given an exhibition of his ability as a mind- 
reader. Soon after one of his exploits he became 
comatose, and in an hour he was dead. The 
physicians were so anxious for an autopsy that 
they opened the corpse on the very day of death, 
without obtaining permission from Mrs. Bishop, 
the mind-reader's aged mother; moreover, they 
held the autopsy directly in the face of the fact 
that Mr. Bishop sometimes remained in a condi- 
tion resembling death for an entire day. The 
mother very naturally charged the doctors with 
murdering her son, and the case was taken into 
court. The physicians swore that Mr. Bishop 
wished for and expected a post-mortem, notwith- 
standing the fact that he had left no paper re- 
questing such an examination and had said noth- 
ing to his mother about his having such a desire. 
The physicians were many and were backed by 
professional influence and strength, while the 
mother was a poor old woman with comparatively 
little backing. The result was just what might be 
expected. It was thought then, and there are 



DEATH FROM UNUSUAL CAUSES 227 

those who still think, that physicians who cut up 
living dogs and cats with no twinge of con- 
science might view the precipitate autopsy in a 
light quite different from that in which it would 
present itself to the mind of an affectionate and 
broken-hearted mother. Still further, portions 
of the viscera were removed for private examina- 
tion and, it is understood, were never returned. 
Some time ago the skeleton of a man was 
found in the trunk of a very old tree. The tree 
was leveled to the earth by a violent storm. 
After a time laborers were sent to cut up the 
wood and cart it away. Great was their sur- 
prise to find embedded in the very heart of the 
tree a perfect skeleton. For a long time no one 
could imagine how it came there, but later 
it was decided that the skeleton was that of a 
hunter who must long years ago have climbed the 
tree to get away from a bear or some other ani- 
mal that had pursued him. The tree must have 
been hollow, and the unfortunate man doubtless 
slipped down the trunk, where he was wedged in 
so tightly that he could not even move. There 
he must have endured a slow death from hunger 
and thirst, — a death rendered additionally dis- 
tressing by his inability to move or in any way 
change his position. The tree no doubt grew 
over and around him, thus incasing the skeleton. 
The finding of the remains of an old powder- 
horn with the bones increased the belief that the 
skeleton was that of a hunter. What a long and 
horrible death that man must have faced! 



IX 



ROMANCE AND SYMBOLISM OF 
ANIMAL LIFE 

There is implanted by nature in the heart of man 
a noble and excellent affection of mercy, extending 
even to the brute animals which by the Divine ap- 
pointment are subjected to his dominion. This, 
moreover, we may be assured of, that the more noble 
the mind, the more enlarged is this affection. Nar- 
row and degenerate minds think that such things do 
not pertain to them, but the nobler part of mankind 
is affected by sympathy. 

— Lord Bacon. 

The philosopher avers 
That Reason guides our deeds, and Instinct theirs ; 
Instinct and Reason, how shall we divide? 

— Pope. 



ROMANCE AND SYMBOLISM OF 
ANIMAL LIFE 

I NEVER saw the story of Balaam's ass in 
verse. Perhaps the stolid creature with 
which the unrighteous prophet had to deal could 
not be made to lend itself with any degree of suc- 
cess to either descriptive or dramatic art. Never- 
theless the ass has played a somewhat remarkable 
part in the great and varying world of letters. 
Victor Hugo's curious account of the philosophic 
ass that held its own in a labored discussion with 
a savant of no mean ability, not only exhibits 
the animal to its own advantage, but displays the 
man of learning in a more penetrating light than 
he would, in all probability, have chosen for 
himself. The writer of Genesis compares Issa- 
char to an ass, and Homer likens Ajax to that 
valuable but much abused creature. The lover 
of classical literature will recall the narrative of 
" The Metamorphoses, or The Golden Ass," in 
which Lucius undergoes a most remarkable 
change, divesting him of man's estate and trans- 
ferring him to the genus Asinus, but with little 
damage to his intellectual parts. He was an ass 
in his exterior only. His mind remained un- 
changed. He fared better or worse, as you view 
it, than Nebuchadnezzar of old, who sank in both 
mind and body to the condition of a mere animal. 
If the sorrows of a man are to be preferred to 
the joys of a beast, then Lucius Apuleius (for 
231 



FIRESIDE PAPERS 

that was the writer's full name) is to be con- 
gratulated. The possession of a human mind 
would have made the humiliation and distress 
only the greater in any of the instances of trans- 
formation recorded in the old mythological tales. 
It did increase the misery of Lucius so far as the 
story goes; but as there was, in truth, no real 
transformation, so there was no distress of any 
kind. Yet St. Augustine took " The Metamor- 
phoses, or The Golden Ass " for the veritable au- 
tobiography of one skilled in magic, who, for his 
traffic in the evil things of the black art, came 
himself to be a victim of that same art. In the 
romance we are considering occurs the tale of 
" Cupid and Psyche," and from its many pages 
Boccaccio and Le Sage drew some of their most 
pleasing narratives. 

Other and greater poets than Coleridge have 
dedicated verses to the sometimes amiable and 
always determined beast. The ass, like all other 
living creatures, is sensitive to kindness. Haw- 
thorne relates in his " English Note-book " that 
" a donkey stubbornly refused to come out of a 
boat which had brought the beast across the 
Mersey; at last, after many kicks had been ap- 
plied, and other persecutions of that kind, a man 
stepped forward and addressed the animal af- 
fectionately, * Come along, brother ' ; and the 
donkey obeyed at once." 

The ass about which Coleridge concerned him- 
self seems to have been like the fatted calf in 
Scripture that an Irish bull tells us had been a 



ANIMAL LIFE 

great pet in the family for " a long series of 
years." The poet addresses the animal in terms 
of the most tender regard. He not only sings, 
" With gentle hand I give thee bread " ; but he 
adds, " I hail thee brother." Think of that — 
Coleridge, a brother to an ass ! As though this 
were not enough, he pushes the matter to a full 
conclusion, and in a later line speaks of " mild 
equality." Surely the gifted Englishman was at 
heart a thoroughgoing democrat, for he included 
in his circle of fellowship, not men alone, but 
also beasts. A bard of humbler capacities sings 
of one who seemed to him to be " brother to 
the ox," but so far as we remember, no poet but 
the glorious singer of " The Ancient Mariner " 
ever dreamed of brotherhood with an ass. It 
may be urged that Coleridge was a youth when 
he so exalted the beast we count to be the sym- 
bol of a dolt, but he was quite as young when 
he gave the world other verses of which no poet 
need be ashamed. 

There can be no reason why we should not rec- 
ognize a human ass, since we have other animals 
in man's shape, and sometimes with a man's wits 
as well. Not many years ago a human ostrich 
was sent to a hospital because it had become nec- 
essary to operate upon his digestive apparatus. 
He had eaten nails, pins, keys, and several 
pocket-knives. The evening before he entered 
the hospital he swallowed still other metal ar- 
ticles, which made his condition worse. The 
surgical operation lasted three hours, at the 



234 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

end of which time there were removed from the 
stomach of our human ostrich six knives of dif- 
ferent sizes, one watch-chain, one ring for hold- 
ing keys, one hall door-key, one desk-key, four 
Yale-lock keys, one button-hook, fourteen wire 
nails, and two pins. The operation left him in 
a critical condition and I was unable to learn 
whether he recovered or died. I suppose he was 
insane, though I heard no statement to that 
effect. If we may have ostriches, reptiles, and 
other loathsome creatures in man's disguise, why 
may we not have as well the human ass? 

An illuminating sentence from Rossetti gives 
us the secret of Coleridge's breadth of sympathy 
and extent of fellowship, and shows us why even 
an ass may claim a tribute from his lyre. Said 
the pre-Raphaelite poet, " The leading point 
about Coleridge's work is its human love " ; he 
might have said, and it would have been as true, 
that the leading point of Coleridge's work is its 
human quality. We all of us recall the lines : 

" He prayeth well who loveth well 
Both man and bird and beast. 



He prayeth best who loveth best 
All things, both great and small." 

No animal could be so mean and poor as to lose 
the sympathy of the poet's heart. Even the 
plodding jackass wandered into his verse. 



ANIMAL LIFE 

The ass may be viewed in a religious light. 
" The Feast of the Ass " commemorated the 
Virgin Mary's flight into Egypt. A girl, ele- 
gantly appareled, with an infant in her arms, im- 
personated the Virgin. She rode upon an ass 
superbly caparisoned. The beast was taught to 
kneel and perform other acts of devotion. When 
it was led into the church and up to the altar, 
with the girl upon its back, the following re- 
markable ode was sung by the people: 

ODE TO THE ASS 

" From the country of the east 
Came this strong and handsome beast, 
This able ass beyond compare 
Heavy loads and packs to bear. 

Now, seignior Ass, a noble bray; 

That beauteous mouth at large display; 

Abundant food our hay-lofts yield, 

And oats abundant load the field. 

" True it is, his pace is slow 
Till he feels the quickening blow, 
Till he feels the urging goad 
On his back so well bestowed. 
Now, seignior Ass, etc. 

" He was born on Shechem's hill; 
In Reuben's vale he fed his fill; 
He drank of Jordan's sacred stream; 
And gamboled in Bethlehem. 
Now, seignior Ass, etc. 



236 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

" See that proud, majestic ear; 
Born he is the yoke to wear; 
All his fellows he surpasses! 
He's the very lord of asses! 
Now, seignior Ass, etc. 

" In leaping he excels the fawn, 
The deer, the colts upon the lawn; 
Less swift the dromedaries ran, 
Boasted of in Median. 
Now, seignior Ass, etc. 

" Gold from Araby the blessed, 
Seba myrrh of myrrh the best, 
To the church this ass I bring, 
We his sturdy labors sing. 
Now, seignior Ass, etc. 

" While he draws the loaded wain, 
Or many a pack, he don't complain: 
With his jaws, a noble pair, 
He doth craunch his homely fare. 
Now, seignior Ass, etc. 

" The bearded barley and its stem, 
And thistles, yield his fill of them; 
He assists to separate, 
When 'tis threshed, the chaff from wheat. 
Now, seignior Ass, etc. 

" Amen ; bray, most honored Ass, 
Sated now with grain and grass; 
Amen repeat, amen reply, 
And disregard antiquity. 
Now, seignior Ass," etc. 



ANIMAL LIFE 237 

When the people lifted their voices and 
sang, 

" Orientis partibus, 
Adventavit Asinus, 
Pulcher et fortissimus, 
Sarcinis aptissimus. 
He, sire Ane, he! " 

the priest wagged his head three times. At the 
close of the ceremony the priest, as the rubric 
of Beauvais ordered, in dismissing the congrega- 
tion, brayed three times like an ass, and the peo- 
ple responded with three brays. Curious mat- 
ter with regard to this subject may be found in 
the " Memoire pour servir a l'Histoire de la 
Fete des Fous," by Du Tilliat, Lausanne edition, 
1741 ; Paris reprint, 1751 ; also, " Recueil des 
Ceremonies et Coutumes Religieuses de tous les 
Peuples," volume viii (edition Prudhomme, 
1809). 

Du Cange gives the Latin from the manuscript 
ritual of the Church in Rouen, and adds the Eng- 
lish of Steinmetz : — 

"Orientis partibus In the eastern regions 

Adventavit Asinus, Chanced an ass to be, 

Pulcher et fortissimus Beautiful and bravest, 

Sarcinis aptissimus. Fittest loads to bear. 

CHORUS. CHORUS. 

"Heli! Sire Asnes, car He-hawn, Sir Ass, you 

chantez. sing, — 

Belle bouche rechignez Fine mouth you grin, — 

Vous aurez du foin assez Hay enough you'll have, 

Et de Vvavoine a plantez. Oats enough to plant. 



238 



FIRESIDE PAPERS 



" Lenius erat pedibus, 
Nisi foret baculus, 
Et eum in chmibus 
Pungeret aculeus. 

cho. — Heh, Sire, etc. 

"Hie in collibus Sichem, 
Jam nutritus sub Reuben, 
Transiit per Jordanem, 
Saliit in Bethlehem. 

cho. — Heh, Sire, etc. 

" Ecce magnis auribus, 
Subjugalis filius, 
Asirms egregius, 
Asinorum dominus. 

cho. — Heh, Sire, etc. 

" Saltu vincit hinnulos, 
Damas et capreolos. 
Super dromedaries 
Velox Midianeos. 

cho. — Heh, Sire, etc. 



Slow in foot was he 
Unless there was a stick, 
And a goad to prick him 
In his lazy buttocks. 

He-hawn, etc. 

He was raised in Sichem, 
Pastured under Reuben, 
Found his way o'er Jordan, 
Trotted into Bethlehem. 

He-hawn, etc. 

Here he is with big ears, 
Primitive clod-hopper, — 
Ass as big as ever, — 
Lord of all the asses. 

He-hawn, etc. 

Mules he beats at jumping, 
Bucks and goats the same; 
Swifter than the Midian 
Dromedary is he. 

He-hawn, etc. 



Aurum de Arabia Gold of rich Arabia, 

Thus et myrrham de Sabd, Incense, myrrh of Saba, — 

Tulit in ecclesia All, the church now offers 

Virtus asinaria. To an ass's virtue. 



cho. — Heh, Sire, etc. 

Dum trahit vehicula, 
Mult a cum sarcinula, 
Ilius mandibula 
Dura terit pabula. 

cho. — Heh, Sire, etc. 

Cum aristis hordeum 
Comedit et carduum, 
Triticum a palea 
Segregat in area. 

cho. — Heh, Sire, etc. 



He-hawn, etc. 

Whilst he drags his wagon, 
Plentifully piled on, — 
Then his jaws are grinding 
Hard food for digestion. 

He-hawn, etc. 

Wheat and barley loves he, 
Thistles too he savors, 
Wheat from chaff well 

knows he, 
Browsing in the barnyard. 

He-hawn, etc. 



ANIMAL LIFE 239 

Amen, dicas, Asine! Now say amen, O Ass! 

[Hie sfermflectebantur.] [Here they fall on their 

Jam satur de gr amine; knees. ,] 

Amen, amen itera — Belly full of clover. 

Aspernare Vetera. Amen! amen! forever! 

And away with fodder. 

Heh-va! Bialxsire Asnes, He-hawn. Beautiful Sir 
car allez, belle bouche Ass. You can trot. Splen- 
car chantez." did mouth of yours to 

sing! 



The line, " See that proud, majestic ear," sug- 
gests the passage from Tennyson's " Prin- 



" No livelier than the dame 
That whispered ' Asses' ears ' among the sedge, 
My sister." 

The story is that Midas was called to sit in 
judgment on a musical tournament between 
Apollo and Pan. The king decided in favor of 
Pan, and Apollo, in revenge, changed the Phry- 
gian monarch's ears to those of an ass. The 
barber discovered the disfigurement and was 
afraid to reveal the secret, but being unable to 
hold it longer in his own breast, he dug a hole 
in the earth, and, pressing his mouth to it, cried, 
" King Midas has ass's ears " ; after which he 
filled the hole and was relieved. 

If the ass is entitled to a festival in our Chris- 
tian calendar, why may he not figure in poetry 
as a moral philosopher, or even as one of the 
heavenly muses? Why, if the Italian people 
may bow before him and sing his praise, is it 



240 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

wrong for the recluse of Guernsey to introduce 
him to a modern audience as a competent teacher 
in ethics? And if the ass, in the exercise of 
free will, finally ridicules modern education which 
has deprived him of his festival, and repudiates 
science which has classified and not sanctified 
him, who shall find fault with so just an indigna- 
tion? He was a profane wretch who named the 
fifth proposition in the first book of Euclid's 
" Elements " Pons Asmorum, The dull pupil 
may lose his head when called to cross that nar- 
row bridge, but the ass is the surest-footed of all 
animals, as every Alpine traveler knows, and as 
we shall learn later when a certain Mr. Barry 
compares the horse with the mule. The irra- 
tional prejudice against the " sacred beast " cul- 
minated in Spanish song when the elegant lin- 
guist and musician, Tomas de Yriarte, soiled his 
lyre and libeled a brother singer ; and, to show 
that whatever merit an ass may have must be the 
accident of an accident, thus tore the melodious 
creature from " the tuneful choir " : 

" The fable which I now present 
Occurred to me by accident. 

" A stupid ass one morning went 

Into a field by accident, 

And cropped his food, and was content, 

Until he spied by accident 

A flute some swain on thought intent 

Had left behind by accident; 

When, snuffing it with eager scent, 



ANIMAL LIFE 241 

He breathed in it by accident, 

And made the hollow instrument 

Emit a sound by accident. 

* Hurrah I hurrah ! ' exclaimed the brute, 

' How cleverly I play the flute/ 

" A fool, in spite of nature's bent, 
May shine for once — by accident." * 

Shakespeare seems to have shared the Span- 
ish poet's contempt for " the flute-player," for he 
makes Conrade call Dogberry, who is little better 
than a fool, an ass ; and Dogberry says of him- 
self, though in wrathful irony, " O that he were 
here to write me down an ass ! — but, masters, 
remember that I am an ass ; though it be not 
written down, yet forget not that I am an 
ass." 

In the East the ass is respected as a useful 
beast of burden, and many an Oriental song cele- 
brates his virtues ; but in the West things are 
different, — with us he stands for stupidity and 
stubbornness. The following story of juvenile 
simplicity illustrates the intense ridicule con- 
nected with his name. Two boys of tender 
years, who went by the names of Tom and Jack, 
became members of a district school in a certain 
New England town. On their making their ap- 
pearance, the teacher called them up before the 
assembled school and proceeded to make certain 
interrogatories concerning their names and ages. 

i A somewhat different translation may be found in Dr. 
Marvin's " Flowers of Song from Many Lands," page 49. 



242 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

" Well, my lad," said the teacher to the first, 
" what is your name ? " 

" Tom," promptly answered the boy. 

" Tom ! " said the teacher, " that does not 
sound well. Remember always to speak the full 
name. You should have said Thom-as. Now, 
my son," turning to the other boy, whose face 
suddenly lighted up with the satisfaction of a 
newly comprehended idea, " now, then, will you 
tell me what is your name ? " 

" Jack-ass! " replied the lad, in a tone of con- 
fident decision. 

The teacher, convulsed with laughter, mo- 
tioned the lads to take their seats. 

The teacher laughed, and we follow his ex- 
ample, because to a western mind there is some- 
thing indescribably stupid and ridiculous in be- 
ing an ass. Dogberry in asking to be written 
down an ass, and Jack in claiming the same 
privilege, name themselves consummate dolts. 

The lot of the ass is full of hardship, and yet 
it is seldom terminated in such cruelty as every 
year ends the misfortunes of more than twenty 
thousand horses at Bordeaux. The dwellers in 
the valley of the Garonne cultivate leeches for 
the medical market. Into the artificial swamps 
where they breed and grow, old and infirm horses 
are driven. As soon as a horse enters a swamp, 
thousands of these hungry vampire-worms fasten 
upon it, covering eyes, ears, lips, nostrils and 
trunk, dragging the animal under the mud and 
slime while they gorge upon its blood. 



ANIMAL LIFE 243 

The proverb about giving a dog a bad name, 
so abundantly illustrated in the history of the 
ass, is further illustrated in that of the serpent 
whose calamity dates from the Garden of Eden. 
Tradition tells us that the devil besought various 
animals to carry him into the sacred enclosure 
where dwelt Adam and his beautiful wife. The 
serpent alone consented. It carried the evil 
spirit between its teeth as cats carry their kit- 
tens, and so it came to pass that the devil was 
conveyed into Paradise. The serpent was origi- 
nally the most beautiful of animals, and walked 
upon legs and feet as do many others; but its 
service to the devil brought down upon it the 
wrath of God, and Michael was directed to cut 
off its legs. It was also condemned to feed on 
human excrement. " And the Lord God said 
unto the serpent, Because thou hast done this, 
thou art cursed above all cattle, and above every 
beast of the field; upon thy belly shalt thou go, 
and dust shalt thou eat all the days of thy life." 
(Genesis iii, 14.) 

It is a peculiarity of the Bible that it leaves 
no animal without at least a " crumb of com- 
fort." Dragons are commanded to praise God, 
and owls are permitted to honor him. The ser- 
pent is promoted to be an emblem of the tribe of 
Dan, and our exemplar : " Be ye wise as ser- 
pents, and harmless as doves." The Saviour 
himself is likened to a serpent : " As Moses 
lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so 
must the Son of Man be lifted up." 



244 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

The serpent figures extensively in classical lit- 
erature. The Laocoon celebrates the achieve- 
ments of two serpents that came from the sea 
and destroyed the priest who would prevent the 
Trojans from taking the wooden horse into the 
city. The serpent is twined around the neck of 
the three-headed Cerberus, the canine guard of 
Hades. The Gorgons had in the place of hair 
hissing serpents, and whoever looked on Medusa's 
locks was immediately turned into stone. Per- 
seus cut off Medusa's head while she was asleep, 
guiding his sword by her reflection in a mirror, 
for he could not look at her face without being 
changed into stone. He placed the head in an 
enchanted wallet and fled, the Gorgons in hot 
pursuit. He escaped them by means of his 
magic helmet, which enabled him to become in- 
visible. 

The most celebrated lines in the " Pharsalia " 
catalogue the African serpents and display their 
characteristics : 

" Here all the serpent deadly brood appears : 
First the dull asp its swelling neck uprears; 
The huge hemarrhois, vampire of the blood; 
Chersyders, that pollute both field and flood, 
The water-serpent, tyrant of the lake; 
The hooded cobra; and the plantain snake; 
Here with distended jaws the prester strays; 
And seps, whose bite both flesh and bone decays; 
The amphisbaena with its double head, 
One on the neck, and one of tail instead; 
The horned cerastes; and the hammodyte, 



ANIMAL LIFE 245 

Whose sandy hue might balk the keenest sight; 
A feverish thirst betrays the dipsa's sting; 
The scytaa its slough that casts in spring; 
The natrix here the crystal stream pollutes; 
Swift thro' the air the venomed javelin shoots; 
Here the pareas, moving on its tail, 
Marks in the sand its progress by its trail; 
The speckled cenchris darts its devious way, 
Its skin with spots as Theban marble gay ; 
The hissing sibila; the basilisk, 
With whom no living thing its life would risk, 
Where'er it moves none else would dare remain, 
Tyrant alike and terror of the plain." 

— ■ Translated by E. Cobham Brewer. 

A curious legend records that Zahak, a cruel 
tyrant, moved by the devil, murdered his father 
and so ascended the throne. Then the devil, 
assuming the form of a young man, became the 
royal cook and prepared dishes of unusual deli- 
cacy and flavor. He claimed as reward for his 
culinary services permission to kiss the shoul- 
ders of the king. Zahak granted the request, 
and at once black snakes grew from the spots 
touched by the infernal lips. Every art failed 
to destroy the writhing and hissing creatures. 
At length the devil donned the form of a phy- 
sician and recommended as the only way of quiet- 
ing the reptiles, that they be fed every day with 
human brains. His object was to depopulate the 
earth. Every day two men were slain and their 
brains made into a pudding for the voracious 
creatures. But after a time the king's cooks 



246 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

discovered that if human brains were mixed with 
those of a ram, the snakes were equally well 
pleased; and so of every two men set apart for 
death, the servants secretly spared one. 

The worm typifies the grave (Job xix, 26; xxi, 
26; xxiv, 20), and dishonor (Psalms xxii, 6; Job 
vii, 5; xxv, 6). In Mark we read of the worm 
that dieth not. The genuineness of the passage 
is questioned. It is quoted from Isaiah, who uses 
it to describe the destruction of the wicked in 
this life and not in the life to come. In a certain 
church in Europe there is shown to credulous 
travelers, I am told, a fragment of " the worm 
that never dieth," preserved in a phial of 
alcohol. The most hopeless lyric in the Eng- 
lish language celebrates the victory of the worm. 
" The Conqueror Worm " is a song of despair 
such as only Edgar A. Poe could write. A mira- 
cle of genius, it is also a fearful picture of mor- 
tality. On a " gala night " the angels assemble 
in the theatre of the universe to see the play of 
" Human Life," and puppets made in imitation 
of God (Genesis i, 27) strew the stage without 
aim or purpose. The actors are moved by the 
hand of a hidden but colossal destiny. The play 
goes on, and madness, sin, and horror are dis- 
covered to be the soul of the plot. Suddenly a 
blood-red worm, writhing in agony, crawls upon 
the stage and devours the players; after which 
the curtain, a funeral pall, descends upon the 
melancholy entertainment. 



ANIMAL LIFE Ul 

" But see, amid the mimic rout, 

A crawling shape intrude ! 
A blood-red thing that writhes from out 

The scenic solitude. 
It writhes ! — it writhes ! With mortal pangs 

The mimes become its food, 
And the angels sob at vermin-fangs 

In human gore imbued. 

" Out, — out are the lights, — out all ! 

And over each quivering form, 
The curtain, a funeral pall, 

Comes down with the rush of a storm, 
And the angels, all pallid and wan, 

Uprising, unveiling, affirm 
That the play is the tragedy, ' Man/ 

And its hero the Conqueror Worm." 

Bildad assures Job that " man is a worm, and 
the son of man is a worm." A Hindu poem de- 
clares that 

" All men are worms, and feed upon the dust, — 

The sons of wealth who sip their dainty wine, 
And they who fare upon a simple crust." 

Pope is of the same opinion. 

" The learn'd themselves we book-worms name, 

The blockhead is a slow-worm; 
The nymph whose tail is all on flame 

Is aptly termed a glow-worm; 
The flatterer an earwig grows; 

Thus worms suit all conditions ; — 
Misers are muck-worms; silk-worms, beaux; 

And death-watches, physicians." 



248 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

It was an old superstition that the angel who 
drove Adam and Eve from the garden conferred 
upon worms the power of speech. They were 
thought to have a social compact and laws of 
their own. The dead were represented in hideous 
rhymes as hearing the worms discuss their flavor 
under the coffin-lid. Swinburne has a little 
poem, " After Death," in which that idea is 
carried out. The first two lines are a key to the 
entire piece: 

" The four boards of the coffin lid 
Hear all the dead man did." 

The prophet Melampus understood the lan- 
guage of worms and was saved from death by 
hearing them converse. They said the one to 
the other, " Surely the roof will fall, for we have 
eaten the beams from end to end." It was in a 
dungeon where he was confined. He communi- 
cated to the jailers the information he had re- 
ceived, and they removed him to another part 
of the building. In the night the roof fell, and 
the king, convinced that Melampus was indeed 
a holy man and prophet of God, liberated him, 
and gave him the oxen of Iphiklos. 

A very interesting chapter might be written 
on the language of animals. The dumb beast 
inhabits the realm of fancy only, for most ani- 
mals are able to speak for themselves in no un- 
certain tone. Some of them are as skilful in 
conversation as was the ass that Victor Hugo 
introduced to Kant, and whose colloquy with the 



ANIMAL LIFE 249 

great philosopher furnished material for de- 
lightful reading. " Among the animal series, 
there are none but the mammalia, the birds, and 
some reptiles endowed with vocal organs," — so 
writes a man of science who seems to have ex- 
amined the animal kingdom with scalpel and mi- 
croscope only. But animals do communicate 
with each other, sometimes by sound and often 
by gesture. Birds call their young and under- 
stand each other's chirp, whistle, and song. The 
cluck of the hen is perfectly intelligible to the 
chickens. How eloquent and expressive is the 
tone of the dog, — what meaning he throws into 
his bark and growl ! Bees, flies, and insects have 
a language all their own. It is not surprising 
that fancy and romance have given the animals 
an almost human vocabulary. What a delight- 
ful story is that in the " Arabian Night's 
Entertainment " which records the adventures 
of the merchant who, like the prophet Melampus, 
understood the language of the animals! In 
^Esop's fables the beasts and birds converse with 
each other and mankind. 

Speech has been ascribed to the following ani- 
mals : Al Barak, the animal that bore Mahommed 
to the seventh heaven; Balaam's ass; Arion, the 
horse given by Hercules to Adrastos; Selah's 
camel, miraculously produced out of a rock, and 
which used to go from place to place crying, 
" Ho, every one that wanteth milk, come, I give 
milk to all " ; the black pigeons of Dodona ; 
Katmir, the dog that guarded the Seven Sleep- 



250 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

ers; Conrade, Fortunia's horse; Tamliha, the 
king of serpents ; and Xanthos, Achilles's horse. 
The spider is another despised animal. What- 
ever crawls is repulsive to man, — why, it would 
be difficult to say. Perhaps Martial's epigram 
comes as near an explanation as possible: 

" Non amo te, Sabidi, nee possum dicere quare; 
Hie tantum possum dicere, non amo te" 

The spider is no exception to the rule: hated, 
it has its romance, history, and compensation. 
Agur tells us, " There be four things which are 
little upon the earth, but they are exceeding 
wise: the ants are a people not strong, yet they 
prepare their meat in the summer ; the conies are 
but a feeble folk, yet they make their houses 
in the rocks; the locusts have no king, yet go 
they forth all of them by bands ; the spider 
taketh hold with her hands, and is in kings' 
palaces." (Proverbs xxx, 24-28.) The Tal- 
mud says that a spider's web, woven over the en- 
trance of the cave of Adullam where David was 
concealed, decided Saul not to enter. The king 
reasoned that if the spider had not been dis- 
turbed the cave must be empty. 

A spider wove its web over the entrance to a 
cave in which the prophet Mohammed was hid- 
ing from his enemies. The web deceived the pur- 
suers. They thought, as did Saul concerning the 
cave of Adullam, that no one could have entered 
the cavern without disturbing the spider and dis- 
placing the web. Thus thinking, they passed 



ANIMAL LIFE 251 

by, and so the prophet escaped. An orthodox 
Mussulman holds the spider in great reverence, 
and many eastern poets have sung its praise. 

" From Mecca to Medina fled our Lord ; 

The horseman followed fast. 
Into a cave to shun their murderous rage, 

Muhammad, weary, passed. 

" Quoth Abu Bekr, ' If they see, we die ! ' 

Quoth Ebu Foheir, ' Away ! ' 
The guide Abdallah said, ' The sand is deep ; 

Those footmarks will betray/ 

" Then spake our Lord, ' We are not four, but five ; 

* He who protects is here. 
Come! Al-Muhaimin now will blind their eyes; 

Enter, and have no fear/ 

" The band drew nigh ; one of the Koseish cried, 

' Search ye out yonder cleft ; 
I see the print of sandalled feet which turn 

Thither, upon the left!' 

" But when they drew unto the cavern's mouth, 

Lo! at its entering-in 
A ring-necked desert dove sate on her eggs; 

The mate cooed soft within. 

" And right athwart the shadow of the cave 

A spider's web was spread; 
The creature hung upon her net at watch; 

Unbroken was each thread." 



252 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

The spider, like the serpent, is sensitive to 
the charms of music. A violinist who practiced 
many hours a day always in the same room, 
noticed that a spider had woven a web on the 
ceiling and that so soon as the violin sounded 
the creature made its appearance. Slowly the 
spider would descend by an almost invisible 
thread until it reached the instrument, where it 
would remain until the practicing was over. A 
warm friendship grew up between musician and 
spider which was highly creditable to both. 

Many animals are so useful and affectionate 
that we are unwilling to believe they perish in 
death. The poor Indian 

" Thinks, admitted to that equal sky, 
His faithful dog shall bear him company"; 

and our own Agassiz taught that both man and 
beast enter upon a future life. 2 Leibnitz, by his 
doctrine of eternal monads, opened the door of 
heaven to all living creatures, from the animal- 
cula in a stagnant pool to the eagle upon the 
lofty crag, and from the insect basking in the 
sunlight to deep-sea fish and scarlet anemone un- 
der the waves of the Atlantic. Coleridge held 
to the same opinion, and defended it with logical 
skill and poetical power. Tradition admits to 
the joys of Paradise the dog that guarded 
the Seven Sleepers. 

Seven Ephesian youths, Constantine, Diony- 

2 Contributions to the Natural History of the United 
States, vol. i, pages 64, 65. 



ANIMAL LIFE 253 

sius, John, Maximin, Malchus, Martinian or 
Marcian, and Serapion, 3 flying from persecu- 
tion, hid in a cave at Mount Celion. They were 
pursued, discovered and walled in, but their lives 
were preserved by a miraculous slumber of one 
hundred and ninety-six years. 4 During all that 
time their dog, Katmir, 5 stood without food, 
guarding their sacred sleep. The legend is of 
great antiquity and found in well-nigh every 
written tongue; it occurs in the Syriac, Latin, 
and Scandinavian; the best accounts are in the 
Koran, xviii, entitled " The Cave Revealed at 
Mecca " ; " The Golden Legends " of Jacques de 
Voragine ; the " De Gloria Martyrum," i. 9, of 
Gregory of Tours ; and " The Oriental Tales " 
of Comte de Caylus (1743). The story of the 
Dog of the Seven Sleepers is here condensed 
from notes in Sale's " Koran " : 

" Their dog had followed them as they passed by 
him when they fled to the cave, and they drove him 
away; whereupon God caused him to speak, and he 
said, * I love those who are dear unto God ; go to 
sleep, therefore, and I will guard you.' 6 But some 

3 In the "Oriental Tales" the names are: Jemlikha, 
Mekchilnia, Mechlima, Merlima, Debermouch, Charnouch, 
and the shepherd Keschetiarch. 

* The Koran says, " Three hundred years and nine years 
over " ; Gregory of Tours says the sleep was about two 
hundred and thirty years. 

6 Some think it was at Rakim. The name is used as a 
talisman to preserve women in childbirth, and to protect 
sailors. 

©In "The Oriental Tales" the dog speaks thus: "You 
go to seek God; but am not I also a child of God?" 



254 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

say it was a dog belonging to a shepherd who fol- 
lowed them, and that the dog followed the shepherd. 
The Mohammedans have great respect for this dog, 
and allow him a place in Paradise with some other 
favorite brutes; and they have a sort of proverb 
which they use in speaking of a covetous person, 
that he would not throw a bone to the dog of the 
Seven Sleepers." 

The story of Rip Van Winkle is like that of 
the Seven Sleepers in that it is a tale of pro- 
longed slumber. Epimenides is undoubtedly the 
original of Washington Irving's hero, so ad- 
mirably rendered by our once favorite actor, 
Jefferson. Epimenides slept fifty-seven years. 

Good-natured tradition has opened the 
" Golden Gate " to other animals, — as the ram 
which Abraham sacrificed instead of his son 
(Genesis xii, 13; Koran, xxxvii). Balaam's ass 
entered Paradise, as did the ass upon which Jesus 
rode into Jerusalem, and the mare upon which 
Mohammed ascended to heaven. Goethe has a 
little poem upon this sub j ect called " The Fa- 
vored Beasts," a rendition of which may be 
found in " Flowers of Song from Many Lands." 
There is also a very delightful article on " The 
Seven Sleepers' Paradise beside the Loire," by 
Moncure D. Conway, in " Harper's Magazine " 
for September, 1880. 

The future life of beasts naturally leads to the 
consideration of animals as symbols. 

The fish, sometimes a dolphin, was the earliest 
Christian emblem. Ichthus, the Greek for fish, 



ANIMAL LIFE 255 

contains a name and a creed. Take the word 
apart : 

'I-rjcrovs Jesus. 

X-/oto-ros Christ. 

®-eou God's. 

'Y-tos Son. 

"X-(i)Tr}p Saviour. 

'I^o-ovs XpioTos ®eov vib<s aoirqp (Jesus Christus 
Dei filius Salvator), or (taking the initials only) 
ichthus, fish. 

During early persecutions the figure of a fish 
was used to signify Jesus Christ and the Chris- 
tian faith. It distinguished Christian graves 
from pagan, and while it was of the deepest 
spiritual significance to the believer, it meant 
nothing to the uninitiated. The fish typified the 
call of the apostles, " I will make you fishers 
of men," and the miraculous draught of fishes 
(John xxi). The fish was also an emblem of bap- 
tism. 

The fish was used in India and the East as a 
sacred symbol. The first Avatara of Vishnu 
was in the form of a fish. His Avataras are ten, 
and are generally given thus : 1. The fish. 
2. The tortoise. 3. The boar. 4. The man- 
lion. 5. The dwarf. 6. The Parasu-Rama. 
7. The Ramachandra. 8. The Krishna and 
Balarama. 9. The Buddha. 10. The Kalki, or 
Kalkin Avatara. The first Avatara was in the 
form of a golden fish with a single horn, ten 
thousand miles long. 



256 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

The fish has always been associated with 
myths, legends and romance. We read in 
Herodotus that Polycrates, advised to cast what 
he most highly prized into the sea, threw therein 
an engraved gem of great value. Soon after, a 
fish was brought to his table, and in it was the 
same gem. A curious legend is told about the 
Glasgow arms. A queen, having fallen deeply in 
love with a common soldier, presented him with a 
ring given her by her husband. The king, having 
discovered her illicit attachment, took the ring 
from the soldier while he was asleep and threw it 
into the sea, and then demanded it of the queen. 
In the utmost alarm she hastened to St. Kenti- 
gern and made full confession. The saint went 
to the Clyde, and there caught a salmon in whose 
mouth was the ring, and thus saved the queen's 
character. A codfish plays the same part in the 
story of the arms of Dame Rebecca Berry, wife 
of Sir Thomas Elton, Stratford-le-Bow, and now 
seen in St. Dunstan's Church, Stepney. 

The lamb was a symbol of the Saviour : " Ecce 
Agnus Dei " (John i, 29). 

The lion was a symbol of Christ and an em- 
blem of the tribe of Judah. " Judah is a lion's 
whelp ... he couched as a lion, and as an old 
lion; who shall rouse him up? " (Genesis xlix, 9). 
St. Jerome makes the king of beasts stand for 
solitude, — the hermit's sign. The lion was also 
a symbol of St. Mark, because, according to tra- 
dition, the cubs are still-born, and at the end 
of three days brought to life by the breath of 



ANIMAL LIFE 257 

the sire. The Son of God was restored to life 
on the third day by the breath of God the Father. 
St. Mark is called, for obvious reasons, " the his- 
torian of the resurrection." Dante represents 
the lion as significant of ambition. When he be- 
gan his first ascent he was confronted first by 
a panther (pleasure), and after that by a lion 
(ambition). 

"A lion came, 
With head erect, and hunger mad." 

Una was attended by a lion. The story is 
that Una, in her search for St. George, became 
weary and sat by the road to rest, when a furi- 
ous lion rushed from the thicket. On approach- 
ing her the lion was charmed by her beauty, and 
became as docile as a dog. The creature fol- 
lowed her wherever she went. Spenser relates 
the story in the " Faerie Queene " (I, iii, 42 ; 
1590). Some say the story is an allegory of 
the Reformation. 

A lion assisted Sir Geoffrey de Latour in his 
conflict with the Saracens, and was drowned in 
attempting to follow the ship in which he left 
the Holy Land. Sir Edwain de Gallis was 
served by a faithful lion. 

Many great kings and gallant knights have 
had their names associated with the king of 
beasts. Henry, Duke of Bavaria, was called 
" The Lion." Richard I was called " Cceur de 
Lion," because he is said to have destroyed a lion 
by plucking out its heart ; others say he had him- 



258 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

self the heart of a lion. Louis VIII of France 
was called " The Lion " because born under the 
sign Leo. Gustavus Adolphus was known as 
" The Lion of the North," and Arioch al Asser 
was " The Lion of Assyria." The Golden Lion 
was the emblem of Assyria : 

" Where is th' Assyrian lion's golden hide, 
That all the East once grasped in lordly paw? 

Where the great Persian bear whose swelling pride 
The lion's self tore out with rav'nous jaw? " 

— Fletcher, " The Purple Island/' vii. 

The lion is now one of the emblems of England, 
and in company with the unicorn appears on the 
English coat-of-arms. The Cape of Good 
Hope was once called Leao do Mar, — Lion of 
the Sea. The king of the forest usually stands 
for all that is noble and generous, but the apos- 
tle Peter most effectually guards the beast 
against pride when he bids us, " Be sober, be 
vigilant; because your adversary, the devil, as a 
roaring lion walketh about, seeking whom he 
may devour." 

The pelican was a symbol of our Lord's suf- 
fering. The pelican wounds her own breast to 
feed her young with her heart's blood. 

The hart stands for spiritual aspiration. 
" As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so 
panteth my soul after thee, O God." (Psalm 
xlii, 1.) 

The peacock is Juno's bird, and signified im- 
mortality; it now stands for pride. 



' 



ANIMAL LIFE 259 

The dragon and the serpent are the heathen 
world and sin. The devil is called a dragon and 
a serpent. Phineas Fletcher, in " The Purple 
Island," calls the enemy of our race a red dragon. 
There are all kinds of dragons, — red, white, blue 
(the blue devil — Hypochondria), black, yel- 
low, etc. Ahrenian was a dragon slain by Mi- 
thra ("Persian Mythology"). The dragon 
Dahak had three heads and was destroyed by 
Thraetana-Yacna. St. Romain, of Rouen, slew 
La Gargouille, the dragon of the Seine. Apollo 
killed the Python. St. Martha destroyed Ta- 
rasque. Cadmus killed the dragon that guarded 
the fountain of Areia and planted its teeth ; from 
them sprang the Sparti. Jason killed the 
dragon which protected the golden fleece. St. 
George killed the dragon with which his name is 
associated, at what is known as the Dragon's 
Hill (Berkshire); but Percy's " Reliques " say 
in Sylene, in Libya. 

The eagle was the ensign of the Roman legion. 
Before the Cimbrian war the wolf, horse, and 
boar shared with the eagle the honor of the na- 
tional standard; but when Marius declared in 
favor of " the Roman bird," all other animals 
disappeared from the colors. Pindar was called 
"The Theban Eagle." Pierre d'Ailly, the as- 
trologer, was known as " The Eagle of the Doc- 
tors of France." Thomas Aquinas is " The 
Eagle of Divines." The eagle is a symbol of St. 
John. 



260 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

The butterfly is the soul. Psyche is repre- 
sented as " a maiden with butterfly wings." 

The ox is a symbol of St. Luke. St. Thomas 
Aquinas was called by his fellow-students, be- 
cause of his reserve, " The Ox." The black ox 
was sacrificed to the infernal gods, and was there- 
fore a sign of ill- fortune; hence the proverb, 
" The black ox hath trod on his foot." 

Animals were punished under the Mosaic and 
Persian laws. " Surely your blood of your lives 
will I require; at the hand of every beast will I 
require it, and at the hand of man; at the hand 
of every man's brother will I require the life 
of man." (Genesis ix, 5.) "If an ox gore a 
man or a woman that they die, then the ox shall 
be surely stoned and his flesh shall not be eaten, 
but the owner of the ox shall be quit. But if 
the ox were wont to push with his horn in time 
past, and it hath been testified to his owner, and 
he hath not kept him in, but that he hath killed 
a man or woman, the ox shall be stoned, and his 
owner also shall be put to death." (Exodus xxi, 
28, 29.) 

Later legislation is acquainted with the same 
custom. A pig was hanged near Laon, June 4, 
1094, for killing and eating the babe of a certain 
cowherd, Jehan Lenfant. A sow and six suck- 
lings were tried for murder, and convicted of hav- 
ing killed Jehan Martin of Savigny. The sow 
was hanged on the tenth of January, 1457. 
There being no direct and positive evidence that 
the sucklings were accessory to or implicated in 



ANIMAL LIFE 261 

the murder, they were released on bail. On the 
second of March, 1552, a pig was sentenced to 
death for killing a girl, and the gallows stood on 
the spot where the murder occurred. In 1612 
another pig was convicted of destroying a child. 
The church has at various times united with the 
state in holding animals responsible for crime. 
The Bishop of Laon excommunicated caterpil- 
lars, using the form of excommunication em- 
ployed by the Council of Rheims in unchurching 
married priests. Caterpillars were threatened 
with ecclesiastical discipline in 1516, and com- 
manded to leave Villenaxe within six days. 

It is generally believed that certain animals 
occasionally commit suicide. Goethe tells us, in 
" Sorrows of Werther," that naturalists de- 
scribe " a noble race of horses that instinctively 
open a vein with their teeth when heated and 
exhausted by a long course in order to breathe 
more freely " : credat Judceus Apella. We have 
greater faith in Mr. G. Bidie's account of the 
suicide of the common black scorpion of South- 
ern India: 

" One morning a servant brought to me a very 
large specimen of the black scorpion, which, hav- 
ing stayed out too long in its nocturnal rambles, had 
apparently got bewildered at daybreak and been 
unable to find its way home. To keep it safe, the 
creature was at once put into a glazed entomological 
case. Having a few leisure moments in the course 
of the afternoon, I thought I would see how my 
prisoner was getting on; and to have a better view 



262 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

of it the case was placed on a window in the rays 
of a hot sun. The light and heat seemed to irritate 
it very much, and this recalled to my mind a story 
which I had read somewhere, that a scorpion, on 
being surrounded with fire, had committed suicide. 
I hesitated about subjecting my pet to such a ter- 
rible ordeal, but taking a common botanical lens, I 
focused the rays of the sun on its back. The mo- 
ment this was done it began to run hurriedly about 
the case, hissing and spitting in a very fierce way. 
This experiment was repeated some four or five 
times with like results, but on trying it once again, 
the scorpion turned up its tail and plunged the sting, 
quick as lightning, into its back. The infliction of 
the wound was followed by a sudden escape of fluid, 
and a friend standing by me called out, ' See, it has 
stung itself; it is dead/ And sure enough, in less 
than half a minute life was quite extinct." 

We are forcibly reminded of Byron's descrip- 
tion of the suicide of the scorpion and the power 
of a guilty conscience: 

" The mind that broods o'er guilty woes 
Is like the scorpion girt with fire: 
In circle narrowing as it glows, 
The flames around their captive close; 
Till inly scorched by thousand throes, 
And inly maddening in her ire, 
One and sole relief she knows, — 
The sting she nourished for her foes, 
Whose venom never yet was vain, 
Gives but one pang, and cures all pain, 
She darts into her desperate brain. 
So do the dark in soul expire, 



ANIMAL LIFE 263 

Or live like scorpion girt by fire; 
So writhes the mind remorse hath riven, 
Unfit for earth, undoomed for heaven, 
Darkness above, despair beneath, 
Around it flame, within it death." 

Beasts of burden are often beasts of romance. 
Camel, elephant, ox, and horse are as intimately 
associated with literature and religion as with 
the ordinary duties and everyday life of man. 
What would the history of Arabia be without the 
camel, — that " ship of the desert," and the fas- 
cinating theme of many an oriental song? How 
useful is the great, clumsy, loose-jointed crea- 
ture, striding over the sand and bearing on its 
huge hump an entire household! In olden times 
the animal was described as patient, but every 
traveler knows that patience is a virtue it seldom 
possesses. Dr. Kitto writes: 

" Of all the animals which have been domesti- 
cated for higher purposes than to serve mankind 
merely as food, the camel is, past all doubt, the 
most churlish, irascible, revengeful, and self-willed. 
We have heard of strong attachments between man 
and all other domestic animals, but never between 
a man and his camel. Of all the creatures promoted 
to be man's companions in travel and in rest, no one 
so unloving and unloved exists. Its very counte- 
nance, which the inexperienced call patient, is the 
very impersonation of malice and ill-nature, — even 
when its eyes are not kindled up into active spite, 
and when its mouth does not quiver with burning 
rage. Even among themselves quarrels are fre- 



264 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

quent; and he who has been summoned by their 
sharp and bitter cries to witness a camel-fight will 
not easily forget the scene." 

Norman Duncan printed some time ago, in 
" Harper's Magazine," this somewhat comical 
description of the ugliness and viciousness of 
even the most promising kind of a camel: 

" There had come to us from Hebron a Turkish 
soldier riding a young camel, whose virtues he 
boasted, and, indeed, exhibited: the clean limbs, the 
stride, and the docility of the beast. It seemed a 
worthy camel; a camel of excellent humor and of 
distinguished promise; and it was much coveted by 
the way. At night, as the custom is, the man was 
used to sleeping close to his beast, the winds being 
chill; but now, at Rafieh, while the mules were un- 
loading and the cook was coaxing his fire, he teth- 
ered the camel, flung his saddle on the sand, and 
went off to the mud barracks to hobnob with the 
Egyptian frontier guard. I was presently alarmed 
by the cook's outcry and a rising excitement in 
camp; the docile camel was viciously trampling his 
master's saddle, stupidly believing that he was en- 
gaged in his master's murder, — a savage and dread- 
ful attack, a rearing and heavy plunge. 

" ' What! ' ejaculated the Turk, when he was in- 
formed of this. ' Have I cherished a man-killer ? ' 

" The camel was heartily beaten and reduced to 
his knees, whereupon his doubled fore leg was tied 
so that he could rise but with difficulty, and we 
withdrew to observe his behavior, for his master 
was not yet convinced. Rise he did, a persistent, 
silent effort, and cautiously approached the saddle, 



ANIMAL LIFE 265 

which he attacked as savagely as before, but now 
with one hoof. 

" ' I have had a narrow escape/ said the Turk ; 
' my camel would have killed me to-night. By God 
and Mohammed the Prophet of God ! ' he swore, 
' I will put the beast in the bazar at Beersheba/ 

" I inquired concerning the future owner's pros- 
pect of long life. 

" ' He is in God's hands/ was the answer." 

Notwithstanding all that may be said and is 
said against the camel's disposition, oriental 
poets delight to dress the creature up in all the 
music and romance of song. There must be some 
amiable trait in the camel's nature, or we should 
not find such praiseful verses written by men 
who knew whereof they were writing. Thus an 
Eastern poet sings : 

" The camel's table in the waste is spread ; 

He gladly picks a meal from out the dirt; 
One pleasant herb is all he asks for bread, 

And one sour weed suffices for dessert." 

A Persian couplet runs in the same direc- 
tion: 

" With strength and patience all his grievous loads 

are borne, 
And from the world's rose-bed he only asks a thorn." 

The elephant also has received a large share 
of man's attention. It has fared even better than 
the horse, — man's delight in every age and 
country. The elephant has long been an object 



266 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

of worship in the East, and the kings of Ava and 
Siam, desiring to exalt themselves, have assumed 
the title, " King of the White Elephant." So we 
read in a native poem: 

" The rare white elephant is widely worshipped in 
Siam, 
As a fit representative of the unseen I Am." 

Had I been born a poet, I should never have 
tired, for instance, so it seems to me, of the ele- 
phant symbol. It is so comprehensive, so intelli- 
gent, so versatile. Elephants do most things 
that men do, and many that men cannot. Every 
one of them is a whole Cleopatra's-needle-full of 
hieroglyphics and significances. They knock 
down the walls of houses with their foreheads 
and pick up pins with their trunks. One ele- 
phant bumping against another knocks it over, 
yet elephants have been taught to dance on the 
tight-rope. It seems to have most of the vir- 
tues, in ordinary times, of an honest man; at 
others, it develops a depth of cunning malignity 
that the entire Newgate Calendar cannot match. 

" Behold the castle-bearing elephant 
That wants nor bulk, nor doth his greatnesse want 
An equal strength. Behold his massie bones 
Like barres of iron; like congealed stones 
His knotty sinews are; him have I made 
And given him natural weapons for his ayde. 
High mountains beare his food, the shady boughs 
His cover are, great rivers are his troughes, 



ANIMAL LIFE 267 

Whose deep carouses would to standers-by 

Seem as a watering to draw Jordan drie. 

What skilful huntsman can with strength outdare 

him? 
Or with what engines can a man ensnare him ? " 

So writes a poet of earlier days ; and after him 
many poets refer to the " elephant endorsed with 
towers," the " castled elephant," the " towered 
elephant," and so forth, omitting to remember 
how swine once wrought havoc in the " embattled 
front of elephants proud-turreted." The story 
is a simple one, and better perhaps in the original 
old English. Alexander, invading India, was 
told that elephants were terrified by pigs, and 
finding opposed to him a formidable array of 
" olyphauntes berynge castelles of trees on 
theyr bakkes and knyghtes in ye castelles for ye 
batayle," the great Emathian ordered up a drove 
of swine to the front of the Greek army, and the 
" jarrynge of ye pygges " upset the " olyphaun- 
tes " altogether, for we read that they began " to 
fie eche one and keste down ye castelles and slewe 
ye knyghtes. By this meane Alysandre had ye 
vyctorie." 

The elephant is a creature of colossal bulk, 
yet it is the most gently docile of man's servants. 
Though of vast strength, it is curiously sensitive 
to small annoyances. It detests the squeaking 
of mice. Mosquitoes infuriate it. Thus Spen- 
ser's elephant, assailed by an ant, is one of the 
poet's types of the " World's Vanity." 



268 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

There is a beautiful story of an old elephant 
engaged in a battle on the plains of India. The 
creature was a standard-bearer and carried on 
its huge back the royal ensign, the rallying post 
of the Poona host. At the beginning of the fight 
it lost its master. The mahout, or driver, had 
just given the word to halt, when he received 
a fatal wound and fell to the ground, where he 
lay under a heap of the slain. The obedient ele- 
phant stood still while the battle closed around 
it and the standard that it carried. The crea- 
ture never stirred a foot, refusing to advance or 
retire as the conflict became hotter and fiercer, 
until the Mahrattas, seeing the standard still 
flying steadily in its place, refused to believe 
they were beaten, and rallied again and again 
around their colors. All the while, amid the din 
of battle the patient animal stood, straining its 
ears to catch the sound of a voice it would never 
hear again. At length the tide of conquest left 
the field deserted. The Mahrattas swept on in 
pursuit of the flying foe, but the elephant, like 
a rock, stood there with the dead and dying 
around him and the ensign proudly waving in its 
place. For three days and nights the animal 
remained where its master had given the com- 
mand to halt. Neither bribe nor threat could 
move it. At last they sent to a village one hun- 
dred miles away, and brought the mahout's lit- 
tle son. The animal seemed then to remember 
how the driver had sometimes given his authority 
to the little child, and immediately, with all the 



ANIMAL LIFE 269 

shattered trappings clinging as it went, paced 
quietly and slowly away. 

The ox, though highly esteemed, has not been 
so fortunate as either camel or elephant. Un- 
der the Mosaic law the animal might be punished 
with death. The creature was peculiarly unfor- 
tunate in the matter of sacrifice. Solomon slew 
twenty-two thousand oxen at one time as a sac- 
rifice, and on another occasion seven hundred 
oxen shared the fate of seven thousand sheep on 
the smoking altars of Israel. 

The horse (not the New York omnibus horse, 
but the real eastern animal, the " stallion shod 
with fire ") has had a good time in this changing 
and fickle world. Kings, nobles, poets, and 
painters have vied with each other in celebrating 
the virtues of the horse, and many of the most 
beautiful poems are in honor of " the desert dar- 
ling." 

" Mahlek Ben Essedin sings, 
Horses are birds without wings." 

Many volumes of absorbing interest might be 
written about the horse — its speed, sagacity, 
usefulness, and beauty. Bucephalus, Alexan- 
der's horse, was painted by Apelles with such con- 
summate skill that a living horse neighed at the 
portrait, so the credulous romancers of long ago 
tell us, believing it to be alive. The real horse 
cost the Emperor a sum equal in these days to 
about $17,500, and was so beloved by its royal 
master that he named a city in its honor; and 



270 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

when it died at the age of thirty, Alexander, it 
is said, wept bitterly and refused to be com- 
forted. 

The horses of the sun were Bronte (thunder), 
Amethea (no loiterer), Aethon (fiery red), 
Pyrasis (fire), Lampos (shining like a lamp), 
and Philogea (effulgence). The steeds of Au- 
rora were Phaeton (shining one,) and Aleraxas 
(the Greek numeral for 365 — the number of 
days in the year). Pegasus was the winged 
horse of the muses whereon the venturesome 
Bellerophon essayed to ride to heaven; he was 
thrown from its back, and the horse, reaching the 
sky without its rider, was there changed into the 
constellation that bears its name. It was 
through a wooden image of the animal Troy fell. 
The Brass Horse, owned by Cambuscan, King 
of Tartary, figures extensively in sacred and 
secular romance. On Merlin's wooden horse 
Don Quixote rode when he performed so many 
wonderful exploits. In the " Arabian Nights " 
we have an enchanted horse. Darius was in- 
debted for his kingdom to a horse. Al Borak 
(lightning) was a creature, part horse, eagle, 
man, and precious stone. It had a human face 
and voice, a horse's head, eagle's wings, and eyes 
of jacinths. It was commissioned by Gabriel to 
carry Mahommed to heaven. 

It was a horse that made Darius Hystaspes 
king of Persia. There was a dispute as to who 
should be the king of that country. The most 
powerful men of the kingdom determined to as- 



ANIMAL LIFE 271 

semble on horseback, and it was agreed that the 
person whose horse neighed first should become 
the sovereign. The groom of Darius Hystaspes 
heard of the arrangement, and at once he took 
a mare to the spot and allowed his master's 
horse to see the animal. The next day at sun- 
rise all assembled, and of course the horse, re- 
membering the mare, began to neigh vigorously. 
Not only did the creature neigh, but it indulged 
in various interesting antics which so surprised 
the horsemen that at once its owner was de- 
clared to be the king. 

In a delightful little book by Rev. W. R. Al- 
ger, called " The Poetry of the Orient," there is 
an exceedingly felicitous stanza describing the 
delicate step of the horse: 

" Haymour, the peerless chestnut steed 
Of Hussein, Sheik of El Madeen, 
Was said to be so light of foot 
That on a woman's bosom he 
Could dance, nor leave a bruise behind. " 

This peculiarity has been the fruitful theme of 
many a poem and of many a story in prose of 
absorbing interest, both in our own and in other 
languages. A soldier in the front rank of a 
German cavalry regiment was thrown while the 
troops were manoeuvring; all the horses passed 
over him, but not one of them, it is said, trod 
upon him. 

Antar, describing the mare of Shedad, the 
famous Jirwet, writes : 



272 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

" Shedad's mare was called Jirwet, whose like 
was unknown. Kings negotiated with him for her, 
but he would not part from her, and would accept 
no offer or bribe for her; and thus he used to talk 
of her in his verses : — ' Seek not to purchase my 
horse, for Jirwet is not to be bought or borrowed. 
I am a strong castle on her back; and in her bound 
are glory and greatness. I would not part from 
her were strings of camels to come to me, with their 
drivers following them. She flies with the wind 
without wings, and tears up the waste and the 
desert. I will keep her for the day of calamities, 
and she will rescue me when the battle-dust rises/ ,! 

In the same vein writes Shakespeare : — " I 
will not change mj horse with any that treads 
on four pasterns. When I bestride him I soar, 
I am a hawk; he trots the air; the earth sings 
when he touches it." 

The value of a good horse has not decreased 
even in these days of automobiles, air-ships, and 
self-propelling vehicles of every kind. Alexan- 
der paid $17,500 for Bucephalus, but that was 
not a large amount for a king to give; modern 
racing horses cost more, as may be seen by glanc- 
ing at the following list of prices: Kentucky, 
$40,000; Norfolk, $15,000; Lexington, $15,000; 
Blackwood, $30,000 ; Jay Gould, $30,000 ; Dex- 
ter, $33,000 ; Lady Thorne, $30,000 ; Goldsmith 
Maid, $20,000; Kingfisher, $15,000; Gleneig, 
$10,000; Smuggler, $15,000; Startle, $20,000; 
Jim Irving, $30,000; Prospero, $20,000; Rosa- 
lind, $20,000 ; Lulu, $20,000 ; Clara G., $25,000 ; 



ANIMAL LIFE 273 

Happy Medium, $20,000 ; Pocahontas, $35,900 ; 
Auburn Horse, $13,000 ; Edward Everett, $20,- 
000 ; Judge Fullerton, $20,000 ; Mambrino Ber- 
tie, $10,000; Socrates, $20,000; George P. 
Daniels, $8,000; George Palmer, $51,000; Mam- 
brino Pilot, $12,000; J. G. Brown, $12,000; 
Flora Temple (too old to run, sold for a brood 
mare) $8,000. The owner of Tom Bowling re- 
fused an offer of $25,000; $30,000 was offered 
for Basset; $50,000 was offered for Woodford 
Mambrino, and $20,000 for Thorndale. 

In England horse-racing, even more popular 
than in America, was early encouraged and pa- 
tronized by the British rulers : Charles I, Crom- 
well, Charles II, William III, and Queen Anne 
were exceedingly fond of the sport. The race- 
course was the delight of ancient Greeks and 
Romans ; thus we find Archias, the friend of Cic- 
ero, setting forth in classic verse the sorrows of 
an old race-horse : 

" Me, at Alfaeus wreath'd, and twice the theme 
Of heralds, by Castalia's sacred stream, — • 
Me, Isthmus' and iEmaea's trumpet-tongue 
Hailed fleets as winged storms ! — I then was young. 
Alas ! wreaths loathe me now : and eld hath found 
An outcast trundling mill-stones round and round." 

The celebrated Flying Childers was bred in 
1715 by the Duke of Devonshire. He surpassed 
every other horse of the period, running three 
and a half miles in six minutes and forty seconds, 
and never losing a race. From him were pro- 



274 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

duced four hundred and ninety-seven winners, 
and he realized stakes to the amount of £200,- 
000. Eclipse succeeded Flying Childers. West 
Australian ran two and a half miles in four 
minutes and twenty-seven seconds, the fastest 
time then on record, at the race for the Ascot 
cup in 1854?. " The Perfect Horse," so felicit- 
ously described by Parson Murray, is pictured 
on the pages of hundreds of authors, ancient 
and modern. The horse is the popular animal 
of the world. So far back as 1496, only four 
years after the discovery of our continent, we 
find in " Wynkyn de Worde " the fifteen quali- 
fications of a competent horse: 

" A good horse sholde have three propyrtees of a 
man, three of a woman, three of a foxe, three of a 
haare and three of an asse. Of a man, bolde, 
prewde and hardye. Of a woman, fayre-breasted, 
faire of heere, and easy to move. Of a foxe, a fair 
tayle, short eers, with a good tratte. Of a haare, 
a grate eye, a dry head, and well rennynge. Of an 
asse, hygge chynn, a flat legge, and a good hoof." 

The average age of the horse is from twenty- 
five to thirty years ; but the animal has been 
known to reach sixty and even seventy years. 
Flying Childers lived to the age of twenty-six, 
and Eclipse was twenty-five years old at the time 
of his death. The heart of the latter horse 
weighed fourteen pounds. Christie White, in his 
" History of the Turf," thinks the uncommon 



ANIMAL LIFE 275 

spirit and courage of the creature are explained 
by the size of its heart. 

Elephants have been known to live more than 
four hundred and fifty years. A writer in one 
of the English magazines calls attention to the 
Indian Aj ax. The story runs that " when 
Alexander the Great had conquered Porus, King 
of India, he took a great elephant which had 
fought valiantly for the king, and naming it 
Ajax, dedicated it to the sun, and let it go with 
this inscription : ' Alexander, the son of Jupi- 
ter, dedicated Ajax to the Sun.' The ele- 
phant was found with the inscription three hun- 
dred and fifty years later." 

Whales have been supposed to live from three 
hundred to four hundred years, but Cuvier is 
sure they sometimes live to be over a thousand 
years old. The average age of the ordinary 
tortoise is one hundred years ; one died in Eng- 
land aged one hundred and twenty-eight years, 
another at two hundred and twenty years of 
age. But if it be true that " he lives longest 
who serves most," one good horse will outlive 
an entire menagerie. 

Without doubt the horse is the most useful 
animal in the world. And yet the horse has not 
been without its troubles and distresses. Careless 
shoeing, the bearing-rein, the blinders, a cold bit 
on a frosty morning, overloading, and abuse are 
some of the bitter ingredients in the life of many 
a horse. 



276 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

" I sometimes think," writes Sir Arthur Helps, 
" that it was a misfortune for the world that the 
horse was ever subjugated. The horse is the 
animal that has been the worst treated by man, 
and its subjugation has not been altogether a 
gain to mankind. The oppressions it has aided 
in were, from the earliest ages, excessive. To it 
we owe much of the rapine of ' the Dark Ages.' 
And I have a great notion that it has been the 
main instrument of the bloodiest warfare. I 
wish men had their own cannon to drag up-hill. 
Men would rebel at that, I think. And a com- 
mander obliged to be on foot throughout the 
campaign would very soon get tired of war." 

All that Sir Arthur Helps has said was true 
at the time he said it, but now comparatively 
little heavy work in dragging instruments of war 
to the scene of action is performed by horses. 
The Germans have taught the world to use rail- 
roads ana automobiles constructed for the pur- 
pose of moving guns and the heavier munitions 
of destruction. 

All grades of horses have, however, been made 
to experience man's inhumanity; the cart-horses 
of England are kicked and beaten; cab-horses 
are overworked; in France, worn-out horses are 
driven into the leech-swamps ; wounded army 
horses are left on the battle fields to die of thirst 
and agony; and race-horses are often urged to 
death. After a steeple-chase in Liverpool, not 
long ago, five horses had to be killed because per- 
manently injured. Three had their backs broken, 



ANIMAL LIFE 277 

and two had their legs snapped. In the market- 
place of Atri a large bell was hung that could 
be heard in all the country around for many 
miles, and whenever a man was wronged he 
might demand justice by ringing; but as Abruzzo 
and its little villages were peaceful and law-abid- 
ing, the rope was not often used. At last a vine 
covered it, and no one remembered where it was. 
A story tells us that an old and ill-treated horse, 
turned out to die, grazing by the roadside, dis- 
covered the vine and began to eat the leaves and 
tendrils; and as he tugged at them, the bell be- 
gan to sound. The poor beast had appealed for 
justice, and at once a proclamation of the king 
brought relief. It might be a good thing if bells 
were hung on every highway for the benefit, not 
only of injured horses, but of the larger animals 
of various kinds. 

" One afternoon, as in that sultry clime 

It is the custom in the summer-time, 

With bolted doors and window-shutters closed, 

The inhabitants of Atri slept or dozed, 

When suddenly upon their senses fell 

The loud alarm of the accusing bell! 

The Syndic started from his deep repose, 

Turned on his couch, and listened, and then rose 

And donned his robes, and with reluctant pace 

Went panting forth into the market-place, 

W T here the great bell upon its cross-beam swung, 

Reiterating with persistent tongue, 

In half-articulate jargon, the old song: 

* Some one hath done a wrong, hath done a wrong ! ' 



278 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

But ere he reached the belfry's light arcade, 
He saw, or thought he saw, beneath its shade, 
No shape of human form of woman born, 
But a poor steed dejected and forlorn, 
Who, with uplifted head and eager eye, 
Was tugging at the vines of briony. 
' Domeneddio ! ' cried the Syndic straight, 
' This is the Knight of Atri's steed of state ! 
He calls for justice, being sore distressed, 
And pleads his cause as loudly as the best.' ,: 

— Longfellow. 

Writes the humane Ruskin : " There is in 
every animal's eye a dim image and gleam of hu- 
manity, a flash of strange light through which 
their life looks out and up to our great mystery 
of command over them, and claiming the fellow- 
ship of the creature, if not of the soul." We 
are partakers with the animals of a common na- 
ture, and that common nature should teach us 
kindness and mercy. 

In the " Fortnightly Review " for August, 
1881, may be found an exceedingly interesting 
article on " English and Eastern Horses " by 
Sir Francis H. Doyle, from which a single para- 
graph is selected: 

" The Duke of Devonshire was in the habit of 
buying annually some of Mr. Childers's ' young 
things ' ; on one occasion a dispute arose between 
them as to whether the sum due from the duke to 
the squire was to be calculated in guineas or pounds. 
' Throw in,' exclaimed the duke, ' that ugly little 
white-faced devil looking over the gate yonder, and 






ANIMAL LIFE 279 

guineas it shall be/ No sooner said than done: 
Childers went with the lot to Chatsworth, and was 
there used as a hack. Returning one day with let- 
ters across the moor, he passed the exercising 
ground of the duke's accepted racers. The boys 
jeered at him as he went by, crying out, ' Come 
now, let us see what that wonderful high-bred nag 
of yours can do/ This invitation was straightway 
accepted, and the curiosity of Childers's critics sat- 
isfied at once. It is needless to add that the horse 
was immediately put into training, and the Chats- 
worth post-pony found himself at once transformed 
into the pride and terror of Newmarket. His com- 
paratively small size was considered at first, I sup- 
pose, to unfit him for racing. The same thing hap- 
pened with Gimcrack afterwards, — some such acci- 
dent disclosed his superiority, and the wondering 
groom rushed to tell his master that the * little crip- 
ple colt could beat them all/ Between Childers 
and Eclipse little more than forty-five years inter- 
vened, and during all this time, whenever superior 
power was shown or imagined, the regular formula 
was, * This is the best horse since Childers/ That 
was said of Lath, foaled in 1732; of the Duke of 
Devonshire's Atlas, foaled in 1752; and doubtless 
of many others in the excitement of some unexpected 
victory. But after the advent of Eclipse this for- 
mula dropped. For the first time men recognized 
a race-horse equal, or if not absolutely equal to the 
typical Flyer, yet good enough, in Cambridge 
phraseology, to be bracketed with him." 

A reporter of the " New Orleans Times-Demo- 
crat " says : 



280 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

" During a chat with the foreman of the street- 
car stables, James E. Barry, the subject turned to 
a discussion of the characteristics of horses and 
mules. He has been a close student of both, and 
the result of his experience is that the mule is en- 
titled to the higher rank in sagacity. 

" Mr. Barry went on to say that the superiority 
of the mule is shown in his absolute refusal to put 
his foot in a hole in a bridge or crossing. Horses 
seem to endeavor to find a hole, if there is any lying 
around, and break their legs. This a mule will not 
do, nor can he be forced to advance if he thinks 
there is danger. * The horse/ said Mr. Barry, * has 
more courage ; the mule more sense/ 

" It has been an amusing study at one of the sta- 
bles to watch a sly, mischievous little mule that is 
rather too fond of liberty. It seems that the mules 
are fastened to their stalls by a chain, on the end 
of which is a cross-piece of iron, which is slipped 
lengthwise through a hole in the stall, and when 
extended crosswise over the hole, prevents the chain 
being withdrawn. This mule, when standing in his 
manger, with his teeth and tongue manages to slip 
the cross-piece attached to the chain out of the hole, 
and then cautiously backs out the full length of the 
chain, and surveys the field. If there be a stable- 
man in sight, he reenters the stall and waits de- 
murely till the coast is clear, when he comes out 
quickly and makes a dash for liberty and the street. 
Sometimes it requires all hands to catch him and 
bring him back. 

" In the yard of one of the down-town stables 
there is a post to which four mules are generally 
tied after being curried. There was recently one 
mule there that was fond of slipping his chain-tag 



ANIMAL LIFE 281 

through the ring in the post, and then, to allow 
his mates to share in his liberty, he loosened the 
others. This he did so often he had to be closely 
watched." 

Among other interesting items in natural his- 
tory is the following excerpt from a paper that 
has for a long time represented the horse-market 
and the racing fraternity: 

" My attention was called recently to the pe- 
culiar actions of an orphan colt, which perhaps are 
worth recording. When the colt was two weeks old, 
its mother died. Previous to her death, she was 
covered with a blanket. When it was apparent she 
could not live, the blanket was thrown over the fence 
and the mare removed, but the colt left in the en- 
closure. The colt, at first very much exercised, ran 
up and down the yard neighing; but when it came 
near the blanket on the fence, it stopped, smelled 
of it, and seemed pacified. It evidently considered 
the blanket its mother, and has continued to do so. 
If the blanket is removed from the fence, the colt 
becomes restless, runs about neighing, but is recon- 
ciled again by the sight of the blanket. If any one 
throws the blanket over his back, the colt will fol- 
low the bearer all about. It will watch the blanket, 
and will not wander far away from it; and when it 
wishes to rest, will go and lie down by it." 

Snake-charmers seldom handle reptiles that do 
not belong to them. From this one naturally 
draws the conclusion that in most cases the fangs 
have been removed. Yet it cannot be that the 
fangs are always taken out, for occasionally an 



282 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

experienced charmer is killed by one of his own 
snakes. Well-nigh every kind of serpent is more 
or less fascinated by monotonous tunes, by gen- 
tle and continuous strokes along its back, and by 
warmth. Cobras and nearly every kind of rep- 
tile will respond to certain notes which the na- 
tives of southern and eastern countries sound 
with a reed-pipe. They will, as soon as they 
hear the low and unvarying vibrations, creep 
from their hiding-places and approach the 
charmer. So long as they catch those sounds, 
they will follow and obey the man who makes 
them. The reptile can from the first be made to 
dance, but I must doubt whether the so-called 
dancing is anything more than an expression of 
uneasiness or alarm. Cobras are capable of 
domestication. In the East some of the most 
vicious reptiles are trained to perform the same 
part that dogs perform for us. They can be so 
educated that their owners may trust them as 
protectors. They can be trained to follow their 
master by day and to guard his home and fam- 
ily by night. I am well aware that what I am 
saying will appear to many of my readers a wild 
fabrication, but it is sustained by excellent 
authority. If any one is moved by this paper 
to follow the matter further, I take pleasure in 
calling his attention to Dr. George J. Romanes's 
excellent book on " Animal Intelligence." 

The charmers of reptiles not only use the reed- 
pipe, the music of which seems almost to hypno- 
tize the creatures, but at times they accompany 






ANIMAL LIFE 283 

the pipe with a humming sound made with the 
lips, and, on occasions, they sing to the snake in 
low, monotonous tones a song addressed to his 
snakeship. The sentiment of the song is well set 
forth in the following lines by Sir Edwin Arnold : 

SONG OF THE SNAKE-CHARMER 

" Come forth, O Snake ! Come forth, O glittering 

Snake! 
O shining, silent, deadly Nag! appear; 
Dance to the music that we make, 
This serpent-song so sweet and clear, 
Blown on the beaded gourd so clear, 
So soft and clear. 

" O dread Lord Snake ! come forth and spread thy 

Hood, 
And drink the milk and suck the eggs; and show 
Thy tongue; and own the tune is good: 
Hear, Maharaj ! how hard we blow ! 
Ah, Maharaj ! for thee we blow; 
See how we blow! 

" Great Uncle Snake ! creep forth and dance to- 
day! 
This music is the music snakes love best. 
Taste the warm, white, new milk; and play, 
Standing erect, with fangs at rest; 
Dancing on end, sharp fangs at rest, 
Fierce fangs at rest. 

" Ah, wise Lord Nag ! thou comest ! — fear thou 

not! 
We make salaam to thee, the Serpent-king! 



284? FIRESIDE PAPERS 

Draw forth thy folds, knot after knot; 
Dance, Master! while we softly sing; 
Dance, Serpent! while we play and sing, 
We play and sing. 

" Dance, dreadful King ! whose kisses strike men 

dead; 
Dance this side, mighty Snake; the milk is here! 

[They seize the cobra by the neck.~\ 
Ah, shabash! pin his angry head! 

Thou fool! this nautch shall cost thee dear; 
Wrench forth his fangs! this piping clear, 
It costs thee dear ! " 

Dr. Arthur Stradling, surgeon on board the 
British man-of-war Elba, undertook to test the 
bite of a rattlesnake on his own person when 
treated with antidotes. The doctor shut himself 
up in his cabin after midnight with ligatures, 
ammonia, nitric acid, brandy, and the serpent, 
crotalus horridus. 

The snake was a small one, with but two rat- 
tles, but lively and not at all inclined to lend 
himself to the cause of science. When the doc- 
tor introduced his gloved hand into the box, pro- 
posing to be bitten on the fleshless part of the 
wrist, the snake sprang out at the other arm 
and inflicted two punctures, leaving the fang in 
one. 

Dr. Stradling shut the snake up, pulled out 
the fang with forceps, and sat down to write out 
his sensations, and to apply his remedies. He 
had no sensations and applied no remedies. 



ANIMAL LIFE 285 

About four hours later he suddenly perceived 
a lump rising on his arm, and turned to the table 
to get the nitric acid, when he became dizzy and 
fell on his cot insensible. There he was found 
an hour or two later, paralyzed in the lower ex- 
tremities, his breath scarcely perceptible, and his 
eyes fixed and glassy. Frightful convulsions 
followed, and it was only after the most vigorous 
treatment with brandy, sulphuric acid, and am- 
monia for two days that he rallied. " He was 
as weak," says his attendant physician, " as a 
baby, and a mere lay figure for the exhibition 
of beef-tea, arrow-root, and misplaced sympa- 
thy." No good could possibly result from so 
foolhardy an experiment. 

Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, the eminent American 
specialist in nerve-diseases, made the poison of 
the rattlesnake and its remedy the subject of 
years of study and experiment. His mono- 
graph on the subject was published by the Smith- 
sonian Institution. 

The result of his researches was that no known 
specific against the bite of this serpent is so cer- 
tain as whiskey, swallowed until the patient be- 
comes drunk. The hunters and trappers of the 
lower Alleghanies reached this conclusion long 
ago without any scientific research. We have 
heard among them of innumerable instances of 
bites, none of which proved fatal when whiskey 
was taken in time and in sufficient quantity, 
though in cases where the snake was old and its 
fangs full of venom, the health of the victim was 



286 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

injured for life. Against the bite of the cop- 
perhead (Trigonocephalus contortrix) , however, 
it is said to prove totally ineffectual. 

It is certain that the serpents handled by 
snake-charmers are in many cases deprived of 
their fangs and poison-bags. But there are 
cases in which they remain in full possession of 
the deadly defense given them by nature. A 
gentleman who visited India went with a charmer 
to a hole in which a large snake was supposed to 
be hiding. The charmer stretched himself close 
to the hole, with his lips directly above it. Then 
he began to whisper in a low monotonous tone, 
" Burr a sap; sabit babut burra " (Big snake, 
your honor, very big). Soon the creature 
pushed its tail into view, and the charmer, after 
sundry incantations, seized the snake at once, and 
brought it forth. It proved to be a deadly 
cobra-de-capello, about five feet long. The 
thickest part of the creature was eight inches 
round. The hood was about five inches in cir- 
cumference. While the snake was hissing, it 
could be handled with comparative safety. 
After a time it was freed, when it at once began 
to wriggle toward the charmer with hood ex- 
panded and ready to strike. Again the snake 
was seized. A tune was softly played to the 
creature. This evidently astonished and greatly 
pleased its snakeship, and it soon became per- 
fectly tractable and was allowed to go free. 
No sooner was it set at liberty than it began 
to follow the music, keeping time to every note, 



ANIMAL LIFE 287 

wriggling and jumping in every direction. It 
swayed from side to side in perfect accord with 
the music. This it did until at last it became 
exhausted and subsided. 

Again the charmer seized the cobra by the 
neck and pressed its mouth open, disclosing the 
fangs and poison-bags. This serpent was later 
deprived of its fangs, and was trained for a 
traveling menagerie. 

It may be interesting to know something about 
the prices of wild beasts and birds. The prices 
change with times and circumstances, but the 
following figures will give a fair idea of the aver- 
age cost of such creatures as usually enter into 
the showman's market. A well-trained elephant 
will bring from $30,000 to $40,000, though in 
Ceylon the beast just captured costs only about 
$1,000. A fine lioness costs $6,500, while male 
lions bring only from $1,000 to $3,000. Tigers 
cost all the way from $800 up to $4,000. The 
difficulty of catching tigers keeps the price up ; 
and then they fret and die in captivity while 
the king of beasts, the lion* endures and even 
enjoys slavery. A good trick-bear will bring 
$1,500, but an ordinary show bear costs much 
less. Leopards are valued at from $1,000 to 
$2,000. The giraffe is a delicate and sensitive 
creature, and no one ever lived longer than two 
years in captivity. " It is difficult to teach them 
to put their heads down to eat and drink." 
They are worth from $5,000 to $10,000. 
Camels are cheap; from $500 to $2,000. The 



288 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

hippopotamus used to cost $50,000, but he is now 
much cheaper. Monkeys cost $£5", but a live 
gorilla is worth $10,000. A large ostrich will 
bring from $1,000 to $2,000. The ostrich is 
short-lived and vicious, and soon worries himself 
to death. Alaska seals are worth from $1,000 
to $3,000. Snakes will sometimes bring over 
$1,000. It is estimated that there are in the 
United States more than $4,000,000 worth of 
wild animals and birds. 

The Right Reverend Charles Gore is the 
Bishop of Oxford, Chancellor of the Order of 
the Garter, grandson through his father of the 
third Earl of Arran, and through his mother of 
the Earl of Bessborough, and, if we mistake not, 
the possessor of still other honors, to which must 
be added what is of even greater importance, an 
extensive and profound scholarship. One would 
suppose a man so marvelously enriched with 
golden honors in which his divine Master when 
upon earth had no part, would strive to imitate 
that Master in things that cost so little as kind- 
ness to animals always costs the person who 
cherishes it in his merciful heart. But honors, 
emoluments, money, and " greetings in the mar- 
ket-place " do not seem to soften the episcopal 
heart, or, indeed, any other kind of a heart. 
This same Bishop of the Order of the Countess 
of Salisbury's Garter (she that was the frail in- 
amorata of Edward III) has rushed into print 
to tell us that it is wicked to pray for animals, 
and especially for cavalry horses. Some kind- 



ANIMAL LIFE 289 

hearted men and women, disturbed by the fear- 
ful sufferings endured by horses and dogs in 
the war now (1915) raging in Europe, have of- 
fered prayers to God on their behalf. Against 
all such prayers the Bishop of Oxford has issued 
a pastoral letter. He tells us that animals have 
no souls and are, therefore, not to be prayed for. 
How does he know that animals have no souls? 
Wiser men than he have thought the higher ani- 
mals endowed with an immortal nature. But 
even if it be granted that all animals perish in 
death, why may we not ask that God's mercy be 
granted them in this life? There can be no rea- 
son why we may not pray for them. 

Bishop Gore may not be aware of it, but there 
are a number of animals interred in Christian 
churches. Frederick the Great erected in Prus- 
sian Poland a magnificent church as a memorial 
to his favorite charger, killed beneath him at the 
battle of Kunersdorf. It is commonly believed 
that the horse is buried beneath the floor of that 
building. The favorite dog of William the Si- 
lent twice saved its master from assassination, 
and at last died of grief a few days after the 
death of William, who was a kind master. The 
animal is at rest among the illustrious dead in the 
Nieuw Kirk at Delft. A pet monkey that once 
belonged to the Countess of Lincoln rests in St. 
George's Chapel at Windsor. The little animal 
is carved upon the tomb of its devoted friend. 

No, there can be no reason why we may not 
pray for animals if the prayer is suited to the 



290 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

occasion. Of course it will be generally con- 
ceded that the prayer must always concern it- 
self with such things and circumstances as enter 
into the lower and narrower life of the beast 
in field or forest. If the prayer is not devout 
in the sense in which those prayers are which we 
offer for our fellow men, it may still be devout 
in another way, if only it be a true and sincere 
address to the throne of heavenly grace. It car- 
ries with it a spirit of kindly regard, recognizing 
the fact that both we and the animals beneath 
us are created and preserved by the same God. 
The sacred Scriptures tell us that not a sparrow 
falls to the earth without His notice. If, then, 
He is interested in all His creatures, it must be 
our duty also to interest ourselves in them. 
We have a claim upon the animals, but it is not 
less true that they have their own peculiar claim 
upon us ; otherwise there could be no such thing 
as cruelty. If there were such a thing as 
cruelty, there could be, nevertheless, nothing 
wrong in it. But from the Scriptures we learn 
that " a righteous man regardeth the life of his 
beast." It follows that the man that regards 
not the life of his beast is not righteous. 
Cruelty, then, is sinful, and, being sinful, calls 
for repentance. Repentance and the thought 
of divine forgiveness bring us into the region 
of prayer. Of course, if all sin is to be con- 
fessed in prayer, it follows that I may surely 
pray for a kind heart in dealing with God's 
creatures. Why, then, may I not pray for the 






ANIMAL LIFE 291 

welfare of those creatures ? Dr. Mackarness has 
written a prayer for the comfort and well-being 
of animals, and certain humane societies in Eng- 
land have had the prayer printed upon cards for 
general distribution. I wrote some time ago the 
following prayer, which has had a reasonable cir- 
culation and which has, I hope, accomplished a 
measure of good in the direction of kindness to 
the animal world: 

" Have mercy, O God, on all animals that have 
to work for our comfort and welfare. Give unto 
us and unto all men a gentle and compassionate 
spirit, that we may deal rightly by Thy creatures 
of whatever kind. Have peculiar mercy, we pray 
Thee, upon such animals as have brutal and cruel 
owners, drivers, and masters. May we not in- 
crease the burden of such of Thy creatures as must 
give up their lives that we may have food. And 
may we practice mercy and show a compassionate 
spirit in the destruction of such animals as must 
be destroyed by man for his own safety and wel- 
fare. In all our relation to living creatures may 
we be just, gentle, and pitiful; gratefully remem- 
bering the goodness of God to us in bestowing upon 
us human reason and sovereignty over all living 
creatures. This and every good thing we ask in 
the name of that Saviour who, when upon earth, 
said of the birds, ' Not one of these is forgotten be- 
fore God.' Amen." 

The tragedy of animal life is a thing we can- 
not, with all our study, understand. Most wild 
beasts come to their death through violence. 



292 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

Very few undomesticated animals reach old age. 
They destroy each other not only that they may 
procure food, but to gratify a native ferocity 
that impels them to attack each other. More 
animals than the cat take pleasure in tormenting 
their prey. Ocean and forest are vast theatres 
of violence. We in some measure share with 
the animals their dreadful impulse in the direc- 
tion of violence. Men who are called kind and 
humane take delight in fishing and hunting. 
They view with no discomfort the mortal agony 
of a deer or a fox that has been shot not so much 
for food as for pleasure. What we call a menag- 
erie is, in truth, to the animals confined therein, 
nothing but a prison. Beasts of high spirit 
have been known to attempt self-destruction in 
order to escape the hopeless monotony of such 
confinement. Think of the horror of vivisection. 
Truly the lives of wild creatures are something 
to call forth compassion. And by compassion 
I mean more than a sentimental pity; I mean 
a desire and an effort to ameliorate or improve 
in some way their condition. If we may go thus 
far, we may, I think, go further, and seek such 
wisdom from above as is needed for our cam- 
paign of kindness. 

We may teach our children to be kind to ani- 
mals, and we may, and should, add to that kind- 
ness the sanction of religion. A woman who 
saw that her child was unwilling to feed a bird, 
asked the little one to find in the New Testament 
Matthew vi : 26 ; and when chapter and verse had 



ANIMAL LIFE 293 

been found, she had the child read aloud the 
words, "Behold the fowls of the air; for they 
sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into 
barns ; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them." 
When the child had read those words, it was 
more than willing to feed the creatures God him- 
self was ready to feed. In a Psalm may be 
found these words : " He sendeth the springs 
into the valleys, which run among the hills. 
They give drink to every beast of the field; the 
wild asses quench their thirst. By them shall 
the fowls of the heaven have their habitation, 
which sing among the branches." So we discover 
that religion has very much to do with the re- 
lation we sustain to the animals beneath us ; and 
if religion has much to do with the matter, then 
surely prayer as well has to do with it. I think, 
then, the question is answered, " May we pray 
for animals ? " 

There is an absolutely unique story told of 
a pet dog that is worth recording because it 
illustrates the extravagance and wastefulness 
of those who have money. All around us are 
homeless and hungry men and women who beg 
in vain for assistance, while dogs, cats, birds, 
monkeys, and other creatures are housed and 
fed in unstinted luxury. Stories like the one I 
am about to tell have much to do with the un- 
rest and bitterness of spirit that drive desperate 
men to deeds of violence. The man who, in vul- 
gar bravado, lighted his cigar with a twenty- 
dollar bill was no worse than are some of our 



294 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

fashionable women who squander small fortunes 
upon animals that are made sickly and disgust- 
ing by the humiliating attentions they receive. 

Not many years ago an actress had a diamond 
of considerable value mounted upon one of her 
front teeth. Whenever she laughed, the stone, 
which was a very beautiful one, flashed like a 
scintillating spark. Now her example has been 
followed by the owner of a dog. Rex is the 
name of a full-blooded Gordon setter that at- 
tracted much attention two or three years ago 
at the dog show. The animal has six front 
teeth of solid gold, and in the tooth most visible 
when the dog opens his mouth is imbedded a small 
diamond. The owner of the dog is a dentist. 
The animal is very intelligent and seems to un- 
derstand his master perfectly. The dog, so the 
story runs, was told to jump into the operating 
chair. Rex did as he was directed. A towel 
was tied in the creature's mouth to prevent the 
closure of his jaws, and then the operation com- 
menced. The dog howled occasionally, but he 
seemed to understand that the master was work- 
ing for his good. The value of the gold in his 
mouth is about one hundred and fifty dollars, to 
say nothing of the diamond imbedded therein. 

Chateaubriand has preserved from oblivion 
the name and exploits of the once famous cat, 
Micetto. This animal was the constant com- 
panion of the Pontiff Leo XII, and always sat 
at the table with his Holiness. Pilgrims from 
all parts of the Catholic world brought with 



ANIMAL LIFE 295 

them to Rome delicate morsels for the capricious 
palate of the sacred cat, and were not in the 
least disturbed when they saw the creature en- 
gage in familiar play with the holy ass that the 
most favored devotees were allowed only to kiss, 
and that with the greatest humility. It is said 
that upon one occasion Micetto actually chased 
the holy ass into the street, to the great scandal 
of the church. Leo XII was so fond of the ani- 
mal that he put a golden collar, engraved with 
the arms of the Papal See, around its neck. 
The creature is described as " gray, stupid, and 
tiger-like, with bands of black." It survived 
Leo XII and was taken by Chateaubriand to 
France, where it was treated with the greatest 
reverence. Aristocratic ladies stroked its fur 
with their delicate hands, and suffered themselves 
to be scratched by its sharp claws. One lady 
of royal blood went so far as to boast that she 
was the recipient of a remarkable favor. 
Micetto had imprinted, with snow-white teeth, 
eight deep wounds upon her beautiful hand. 

Pius IX was very fond of a cat that he called 
Morello. He often slept with the creature at 
the foot of his bed, and at dinner it was at lib- 
erty to run all over the table-cloth, and even to 
pick and steal from the plate of the Holy Father. 
Petrarch had a cat upon which he bestowed every 
kind of attention, and when it died he mourned 
for it as for a very dear friend. He had its re- 
mains carefully embalmed after the fashion of 
the ancient Egyptians. Andria Doria, known as 



296 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

the " Father and Defender of Venice," had his 
cat's portrait painted, and after the animal's 
death he preserved its skeleton. It is said he 
would not render a decision on any question of 
public importance without first spending an hour 
in the delightful society of his favorite cat. 
Cardinal Wolsey never gave audience to a for- 
eign ambassador without enthroning by his side 
a cat that was his constant companion. Riche- 
lieu's attachment to cats is a matter of history. 
Mohammed has left it on record that he 
was never happy away from his cat. When the 
animal was asleep upon his sleeve and he wished 
to rise, he would cut off the sleeve rather than 
disturb its slumbers. Rousseau delighted in 
cats. 

Dr. Johnson had a cat he called Hodge, and 
he was careful never to say anything in its pres- 
ence that might offend the creature. Sir Isaac 
Newton was so fond of cats that he made holes 
in his barn door for their accommodation. He 
measured the cats and cut the holes to fit them. 
Southey had Greta Hall, where he settled in 
1804, so full of cats that he was accustomed to 
call it " Cats' Eden." He wrote a " Memoir of 
the Cats of Greta Hall," and wished to be re- 
membered as the Plutarch of cats. Montaigne 
used to obtain relaxation by playing with his 
cats. Colbert reared six or eight cats in his 
private study, and taught them various tricks. 
One large Angora slept in his waste-paper bas- 
ket. Tasso wrote a sonnet to his faithful cat, 



ANIMAL LIFE 297 

in which he entreated the creature to assist him 
through the night with the lustre of its moonlike 
eyes, having no candles by which he could see to 
write verses. Beranger made a poem to his 
tabby. Fontenelle used to deliver orations in 
the presence of his favorite cat. Gray has given 
the world an ode " On the Death of a Favorite 
Cat Drowned in a Vase of Gold Fishes," — all of 
which reminds us of the Latin adage, " Catus 
amat pisces, sed non vult tingere plautos " — the 
cat loves fish but does not wish to wet her paws. 
Lady Macbeth makes allusion to the line: 

" Letting I dare not wait upon I would, 
Like the poor cat i' the adage." 

From Pope we have the famous distich : 

" But thousands die, witnout a this or that, 
Die, and endow a college or a cat." 

But the poet little thought that a good and 
wealthy woman in Dedham would leave most of 
her property for the support of household pets, 
and certainly he could not have dreamed that 
Dr. Lindsay, in his excellent work on " Mind in 
the Lower Animals," would recommend that every 
large city have a nursery for cats and other 
domestic animals. 

We often hear of the Kilkenny cats. The 
story is that two cats at Kilkenny fought with 
such ferocity that each swallowed the other, leav- 
ing behind nothing but the tails of both com- 
batants. There is a different version of the 



298 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

story which tells us that a regiment once sta- 
tioned at Kilkenny found amusement in tying 
cats together by their tails, and watching their 
frantic attacks upon each other in the effort to 
get free. The colonel determined to stop the 
cruel sport, and one day, in the midst of the 
fun, an alarm was given that he was approach- 
ing, whereupon a soldier cut through their tails 
with a sword, thus liberating the animals. 

We frequently employ the expression, " cat's- 
paw," to signify a dupe. It is derived from 
the fable of the monkey who wanted to get from 
the fire some roasted chestnuts, and used the 
paws of the cat to pull them out from the hot 
ashes. Commodore Rodgers, in a brilliant and 
famous patriotic address, said, " I had no in- 
tention of becoming a cat's-paw to draw Euro- 
pean chestnuts out of the fire." There is in 
one of the art galleries of New York a very good 
picture of the monkey and the cat. The phrase, 
" Let the cat out of the bag," is coextensive with 
the English language. The old-time English 
farmer would substitute a cat for a sucking pig, 
and bring the animal to market. Strangers who 
were not acquainted with the trick would buy 
" a pig in a poke " without examination. But 
if they opened the bag to see what kind of a pig 
had come to market, they were sure to " let the 
cat out of the bag." 

Those who are interested in the life of Na- 
poleon will call to mind the celebrated " Cat 
Hoax " of 1815. Just before the Emperor 



ANIMAL LIFE 299 

started for St. Helena a practical joker printed 
and distributed a large number of handbills set- 
ting forth that the island upon which Napoleon 
was to remain was overrun with rats, and that a 
considerable sum would be paid for full-grown 
tom-cats and also for female cats, and even for 
kittens if they were lively and could feed them- 
selves. The day set for the presentation of the 
animals saw hundreds of felines offered as com- 
panions and fellow travelers for the distinguished 
prisoner. The wharf was crowded with men and 
old women and even little children carrying cats 
of all kinds and sizes. So anxious were the peo- 
ple to dispose of the creatures that a riot broke 
out and most of the cats escaped, and instead of 
infesting the island to the dismay of the rats, 
they infested the neighboring houses to the dis- 
may of their occupants. Something like five 
hundred cats were killed. 

" A lady friend of mine," said a writer in 
" Nature," " was at one time matron of a hos- 
pital for poor children, which institution was 
maintained by subscription. One of the inmates 
was a blind girl, who was not there as a per- 
manent patient, but temporarily, till a home 
could be found for her. She had learned to 
feed herself, and at meal time a tray containing 
food was placed on her knees as she sat in a com- 
fortable chair. Upon a certain day, while she 
was eating, the pet cat of the establishment 
placed itself before the girl, and looked long and 
earnestly at her, — so earnestly that the matron, 



300 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

fearing the animal meditated mischief to the 
girl, took her from the room. Again the next 
day at the same hour the cat entered the apart- 
ment, but this time walked quietly to the girl's 
side, reared itself on its hind legs, and noiselessly, 
stealthily reached out its paw to the plate, 
selected and seized a morsel that pleased its cat- 
ship, and then silently as it came, departed to 
enj oy the stolen meal. The girl never noticed her 
loss, and when told of it by her companions, 
laughed heartily. It is evident that the cat, from 
observation, had entirely satisfied itself that the 
girl could not see, and by a process of reason- 
ing it had decided it could steal a good dinner 
by the practical use of a little valuable knowl- 
edge." 

Hamerton, in his delightful book about ani- 
mals, says that he knew a French politician 
whose cats made it impossible to dine with him. 
They were permitted to run all over the table, 
taking from any plate whatever happened to 
please them. On the same page our author ob- 
serves that " cats frequently appear upon the 
table in another shape." He once lodged near 
the Arc de Triomphe, and from his window could 
see a purveyor of dead cats supply a cheap res- 
taurant in a back street with French rabbits. 
Cats were regarded by the Parisians during the 
great siege as a delicacy. The French poli- 
tician's fondness for cats was surpassed, how- 
ever, by the attachment for them manifested by 
a certain Mrs. Griggs of Edinburgh. That 



ANIMAL LIFE 301 

lady had in her house eighty-six living cats and 
twenty-eight dead ones in glass cases. She con- 
sumed much of her time in fondling and feeding 
the animals. It is said that a lawyer in San 
Francisco had a collection of more than a thou- 
sand cats, which he valued at a great price. 
The most famous cat shows were held in Eng- 
land at the Crystal Palace, on the thirteenth of 
July and the second of December, 1871, and on 
the twenty-sixth and twenty-ninth of October, 
1872. New York and Boston have had large 
exhibitions of feline beauty. At the latter city 
the cats known as Hamlet, Charles Dickens, 
Lowell, Rolla, and Sebastian Bach attracted great 
attention by their size, beauty, and agility. 

Beattie tells us, in his " Minstrel," that it is 
hard to climb the " steep where Fame's proud 
temple shines afar." The cats named had, all of 
them, the usual feline apparatus for climbing 
whatever steep seemed to them attractive; but 
certain distinguished artists saved their catships 
all trouble of the kind by painting them on or- 
ders from their owners. Think of the efforts 
of some good authors to obtain even a passing 
recognition. Think of their futile climbing. 
Then consider for a moment the unearned im- 
mortality of those unresponsive, fluffy, silky An- 
goras. Verily Dogberry might have exclaimed, 
" Write me down a cat ! " Yet Shakespeare 
made him much prefer to be written down an ass. 
Well, Dogberry was, in truth, a fool. He also 
is a fool who prefers the immortality of a dolt 



302 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

to the dignified oblivion of unrecognized worth. 
Shelley, who delighted in all strange and 
supernatural stories, has left us this wild nar- 
rative, which he received from a certain inventor 
of weird and remarkable tales. 

" A gentleman, on a visit to a friend who lived 
on the skirts of an extensive forest on the east of 
Germany, lost his way. He wandered for some 
hours among the trees, when he saw a light at a dis- 
tance. On approaching it, he was surprised to ob- 
serve that it proceeded from the interior of a ruined 
monastery. Before he knocked he thought it pru- 
dent to look through a window. He saw a multitude 
of cats assembled around a small grave, four of 
whom were letting down a coffin with a crown upon 
it. The gentleman, startled at this unusual sight, 
and imagining that he had arrived among the re- 
treats of fiends or witches, mounted his horse and 
rode away with the utmost precipitation. He ar- 
rived at his friend's house at a late hour. On his 
arrival the friend questioned him as to the cause 
of the traces of trouble visible on his face. He be- 
gan with some difficulty to recount his adventure, 
knowing that it was scarcely possible his friend 
should believe one word of it. No sooner had he 
mentioned the coffin with a crown upon it than his 
friend's cat, who seemed to have been lying asleep 
before the fire, leaped up, saying, ' Then I am the 
king of the cats ! ' and scrambled up the chimney 
and was seen no more." 7 

There is a story of a certain man who dreamed 
he was a cat, and so vivid was the impression 
7 Hamerton's " Chapters on Animals," page 53. 



ANIMAL LIFE 303 

made upon his mind by the dream that ever after 
he could not endure the sight of the animal, 
though before the unfortunate dream he was 
exceedingly fond of cats. Rev. J. C. Wood, in 
his " Man and Beast," publishes a letter from a 
lady in which is recorded a strange adventure. 
At the time of the occurrence, the lady and her 
mother were living in an old country chateau in 
France. This is her letter: 

" It was during the winter of 18 — that one even- 
ing I happened to be sitting by the side of a cheer- 
ful fire in my bedroom, busily engaged in caressing 
a favorite cat, — the illustrious Lady Catharine, 
now, alas ! no more. She lay in my lap in a pen- 
sive attitude and a winking state of drowsiness. 
Although my room might have been without candles, 
it was perfectly illuminated by the light of the fire. 
There were two doors, — one behind me, leading 
into an apartment which had been locked for the 
winter, and another, on the opposite side of 
the room, which communicated with the passage. 
Mamma had not left me many minutes, and the 
high-backed, old-fashioned arm-chair which she had 
occupied remained vacant at the opposite corner of 
the fireplace. Puss, who lay with her head on my 
arm, became more and more sleepy, and I pondered 
on the propriety of preparing for bed. 

" Of a sudden I became aware that something 
had affected my pet's equanimity. The purring 
ceased, and she exhibited rapidly increasing symp- 
toms of uneasiness. I bent down and endeavored to 
coax her into quietness, but she instantly struggled 
to her feet in my lap, and spitting vehemently, with 



304 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

arched back and tail swollen, she assumed an atti- 
tude of mingled terror and defiance. 

" The change in her position obliged me to raise 
my head; and on looking up, to my inexpressible 
horror, I then perceived that a little, hideous, 
wrinkled old hag occupied mamma's chair. Her 
hands were resting on her knees, and her body was 
stooping forward so as to bring her face in close 
proximity to mine. Her eyes, piercingly fierce and 
shining with an overpowering luster, were stead- 
fastly fixed on me. It was as if a fiend were glar- 
ing at me through them. Her dress and general 
appearance indicated that she belonged to the 
French bourgeoisie; but those eyes, so wonderfully 
large, and in their expression so intensely wicked, 
entirely absorbed my senses and precluded any at- 
tention to detail. I should have screamed, but my 
breath was gone while that terrible gaze so horribly 
fascinated me: I could neither withdraw my eyes 
nor rise from my seat. 

" I had meanwhile been trying to keep a tight 
hold on the cat, but she seemed resolutely de- 
termined not to remain in such ugly neighborhood, 
and after some most desperate efforts at length suc- 
ceeded in escaping from my grasp. Leaping over 
tables, chairs, and all that came in her way, she re- 
peatedly threw herself with frightful violence 
against the top panel of the door which communi- 
cated with the disused room. Then, returning in 
the same frantic manner, she furiously dashed 
against the door on the opposite side. 

" My terror was divided, and I looked by turns, 
now at the old woman, whose great staring eyes 
were constantly fixed on me, and now at the cat, 



ANIMAL LIFE 305 

who was becoming every instant more frantic. At 
last the dreadful idea that the animal had gone mad 
had the effect of restoring my breath, and I 
screamed loudly. 

" Mamma ran in immediately, and the cat, on the 
door opening, literally sprang over her head, and 
for upward of half an hour ran up and down stairs 
as if pursued. I turned to point to the object of 
my terror: it was gone. Under such circumstances 
the lapse of time is difficult to appreciate, but I 
should think that the apparition lasted about four 
or five minutes. 

" Some time afterward I learned that a former 
proprietor of the house, a woman, had hanged her- 
self in that very room." 

In the olden times it was a common sport to 
suspend a cat from a branch of a tree as a mark 
to be shot at. Sometimes the animal so sus- 
pended was enclosed in a leather sack. We have 
a reference to the cruel sport in " Much Ado 
about Nothing " : " Hang me in a bottle, like a 
cat." It was also a custom to place the cat in 
a soot-bag and hang it on a line; the players 
were to beat out the bottom of the bag, hence 
the saying, " Not room to swing a cat." Thirty 
or more years ago the expression, " He grins like 
a Cheshire cat " was common ; it came from the 
habit of moulding cheese in Cheshire into the 
form of a cat. 

It is a mistake to suppose that the modern 
" cat-call " has anything to do with the domes- 
tic pet of which we are now writing. The an- 



306 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

cients separated the drama into four parts: the 
protasis (introduction), epitasis (continuation), 
catastasis (climax), and catastrophe (conclu- 
sion) . The " cat-call " is the call for the dra- 
matic cat or catastrophe, or, as we sometimes 
have it, the denouement. 

The " harmless, necessary cat " of which we 
read in " The Merchant of Venice," was a very 
costly creature in the Middle Ages, and was pro- 
tected by law in Wales about 948. The cat is 
mentioned in the " Epistle of Jeremias " : 
" Upon their bodies and their heads light bats, 
swallows, and birds, and in like manner also the 
cats spring upon them." It is believed that the 
animal alluded to by Aristotle was the wildcat. 
Every scholar is acquainted with the famous 
passage in Herodotus (book 2, chapter 66) 
which treats of the cats of Egypt. Interesting 
material in this connection may be found in 
Wilkinson's " Ancient Egypt," volume 1, page 
246; Jablonski, " Panth. ^Egypte," volume 2, 
page 66 ; and in the history of Diodorus Siculus, 
book 1, chapter 83. Especially interesting are 
the accounts of the burial and worship of wolves, 
crocodiles, bears, and dogs in tombs and sacred 
caves. 

Household pets have been made from nearly 
every kind of animal known to man. Frederick 
the Great was a dog-fancier. Goethe was fond 
of a snake, which he kept in a chimney corner. 
Tiberius, the Roman Emperor, had the same 
taste, and made a bosom companion of a serpent. 



ANIMAL LIFE 307 

Augustus delighted in his parrot, and mourned 
with inconsolable grief when his quail died. 
Honorius declared himself willing to give up the 
city of Rome and to sacrifice the lives of all its 
citizens could he but restore to life his hen, 
Roma. Louis XI, when ill at Plessis-le-Tours, 
could find pleasure in nothing but dancing pigs. 
Henry III of France used to carry a litter of 
spaniels in a basket suspended around his neck. 
Charles I of England had the same taste. Rich- 
ter was fond of all animals. Razzi, the painter, 
filled his house with squirrels, monkeys, Angora 
cats, dwarf asses, he-goats, tortoises, and Elba 
ponies. Pelisson, confined in the Bastille, tamed 
a spider. The Marquise de Montespan amused 
herself with mice, which she allowed to run all 
over her elegant apartments at Versailles. Car- 
dinal Mazarin made a friend of an ape. The 
poet Alfieri delighted in horses. Cowper's great 
delight was to feed his tame hares. Fournier 
was devoted to a squirrel. 

Charles Kingsley delighted in cats ; and upon 
his lawn dwelt a family of toads which lived from 
year to year in the same hole in the green bank, 
which the scythe was never allowed to approach. 
A pair of sand-wasps, one of which had been 
saved from a watery death in a hand-basin by the 
tender-hearted rector, lived in a crack of his 
dressing-room window, and every spring he 
looked eagerly for their advent. A fly-catcher 
that built every year under his bedroom window 
was a joy to him, and he delighted in a favorite 



308 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

slow-worm in the church-yard, which his parish- 
ioners were specially enjoined not to kill. 

" Who will bell the cat? " is a curious old pro- 
verb, famous in parable and in history. The 
mice held a consultation how to secure them- 
selves from the cat, and they resolved to hang a 
bell about the cat's neck to give warning when 
she approached; but after they had resolved on 
doing it they were as far off from safety as ever, 
for who would hang the bell? Roth parable and 
proverb have immortalized themselves in history. 
When the Scottish nobles met at Stirling in a 
body, they proposed to take Spence, the obnoxious 
favorite of James III, and hang him to rid them- 
selves of him. " Ay," said Lord Grey, " that's 
very well said, — but who'll bell the cat ? " 
" That will I ! " said the black Earl Angus ; and 
he undertook the task and accomplished it, and 
was called " Archibald Rell-the-cat " until his 
dying day. " You can have no more of a cat 
than her skin," is an old saying, but surely Lord 
Grey got more than many skins when once he had 
the bell about that dreaded neck. 

It is reported of a certain Mr. O'Rorke that 
he invented a living rat-trap. The question with 
him was not " Who will bell the cat? " but " Who 
will outwit the rat ? " The rats overran Mr. 
O'Rorke's house and in many ways troubled him 
greatly. So, after studying their habits and 
haunts, he trapped several of the obnoxious crea- 
tures. Selecting the largest and strongest of 
these, O'Rorke gave it a coating of glue, after 



ANIMAL LIFE 309 

which he dropped it into a bag of feathers. 
Then the animal was turned loose. It scurried 
away as fast as it could to its old resorts and 
friends. The other rats, on seeing the feathered 
rodent, fled in terror from their holes, and for a 
long time avoided the house wherein they had 
seen so strange a creature. Were we inclined to 
be facetious, we might call O'Rorke's perform- 
ance " The Metamorphosis, or The Silver Rat." 

William Dunlap, an early American artist 
(1766-1839), to whose activity and enterprise 
we owe the New York Academy of Fine Arts, has 
given the world a picture of Chloe, the " Flor- 
ence Nightingale of the Cats." When the yel- 
low fever was ravaging New York in 1822, a 
large portion of the city, known as the infected 
district, was deserted and barricaded. The in- 
habitants fled, but the cats remained in their 
homes, and would have starved had not old col- 
ored Chloe remained to feed them. 

Gottfried Mind, who was born at Berne in 
1768, devoted most of his time to the painting 
of cats and bears. So lifelike were his water- 
color representations of puss that posterity calls 
him the " Raphael of Cats." Mind passed 
many of his happiest hours at the bears' den in 
Berne, where from time immemorial two live 
bears have been kept. No sooner did he make 
his appearance than the creatures hastened to him 
with a friendly growl, and were invariably re- 
warded with a piece of bread or an apple from 
the pocket of their benefactor. 



310 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

The cat was worshipped in Egypt as a god. 
This deity had a human body and a cat's head. 
Diodorus tells us that to kill an Egyptian cat, 
even by accident, was to forfeit one's own life. 
An ancient tradition has it that Diana assumed 
the form of a cat, and thus excited to rage the 
great giants. The creature was a symbol of 
liberty because of its dislike for all constraint. 
The Romans represented their Goddess of Lib- 
erty as holding in one hand a cup and in the 
other a broken sceptre, and with a cat at her 
feet. 

But the cat, worshipped in Egypt and petted 
all over the world, is not without its tale of 
woe. And in some cases we may exclaim with 
Carey in " The Dragon of Wantley " : 

" What a monstrous tail our cat has got ! " 

No animal has been more intimately associated 
with every kind of superstition. The creature 
was once thought to provoke storms at sea, and 
was regarded as unlucky by seamen. It was said 
of the animal, " She carries a gale in her tail." 
When the cat licked its fur the wrong way, 
it was a very bad sign. No sailor in the olden 
time would dare to provoke a cat, and yet the 
opinion prevailed that the best way to secure a 
favorable wind was to drown the creature. 

Fielding, in his voyage to Lisbon (1775), 
says : " The kitten at last recovered, to the 
great joy of the good captain, but to the great 
disappointment of some of the sailors, who as- 



ANIMAL LIFE 311 

serted that the drowning of a cat was the very 
surest way of raising a favorable wind." The 
Germans have a proverb that any one having a 
cat for an enemy will be followed at his funeral 
by rats and rain. There is a Hungarian prov- 
erb that a cat will not die in water, hence sail- 
ors call flaws on the surface of water, " cats'- 
paws " ; the animal's paws disturb the surface. A 
greater agitation is called a " cat-skin." So we 
have, " It rains cats and dogs." In some parts 
of England the northwest wind is called " cat's- 
nose." There is an old saying that " Good 
liquor will make a cat speak." Cats, because 
they see at night and are of nocturnal habits, 
are connected with the moon, and are viewed as 
witches' familiars. Galinthia was changed by the 
Fates into a cat. Hecate assumed the shape of a 
cat. The animal was used by witches for raising 
a gale, and it was believed that the creature could 
smell a wind in the same way that pigs could 
see it. Southey tells us in his " Travels in 
Spain " that old women promised him a fine day 
because the cats' skin looked bright. The animal 
is remarkably tenacious of life ; hence the saying, 
" A cat has nine lives." Shakespeare, who knew 
everything, writes, in " Romeo and Juliet " : 

Tyb. — What wouldst thou have with me? 
Mer. — Good king of cats, nothing but one of your 
nine lives. 

The tiger has always been a symbol of ferocity 
and cruelty, yet Tasso tells us, in his " Jeru- 



312 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

salem Delivered," that Cornelia was suckled by 
a tigress. Story, in his poem, " Cleopatra," 
makes the Egyptian queen recall the happy time 
when, a smooth and velvety tigress, she wandered 
over the desert and through the jungle with her 
Antony, in the enjoyment of a "fierce and tyr- 
annous freedom." A Buddhist parable repre- 
sents " Lord Buddha " as giving himself, out of 
pity, to be food for a famished tigress unable to 
nourish her cubs : 

"The famished tigress howled in vain; 
No prey to stay the hunger-pain 
Was seen on all the burning plain. 

" The savage mother, worn and faint, 
Heard, wild with woe, her cub's weak plaint, 
Then leaped for joy. She saw a saint. 

" For Buddha, pitying her despair, 
Is hastening to the tiger's lair 
In answer to her awful prayer! 

" ' Take me and feed your young/ he said. 
Great Buddha's blood was fiercely shed, 
Great Buddha's heart the tigress fed." 

William Blake has this fine poem about the 
tiger : 

" Tiger, Tiger, burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 



ANIMAL LIFE 313 

" In what distant deeps or skies 
Burnt the fire of thine eyes? 
On what wings dare he aspire? 
What the hand dare seize the fire? 

" And what shoulder and what art 
Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 
And when thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand forged thy dread feet? 

" What the hammer ? What the chain ? 
In what furnace was thy brain? 
What the anvil? What dread grasp 
Dare its deadly terrors clasp? 

" When the stars threw down their spears, 
And watered heaven with their tears, 
Did He smile his work to see? 
Did He who made the lamb make thee ? 

" Tiger, Tiger, burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? " 

The Reverend Thomas Hill has recorded his 
experience with a friendly old toad that used to 
sit under the door of a beehive forty years ago, 
and also with a little toad in its second sum- 
mer. The experience is so pleasantly related 
and so interesting that we venture to quote with- 
out abridgment: 

" This note is intended as a contribution toward 
the psychology of the American toad, simply pre- 



SU FIRESIDE PAPERS 

senting some evidences of intelligence and of ca- 
pacity for learning to which I have been witness. 
In the summer of 1843 an old toad used to sit 
under the door of a beehive every fine evening, and 
dexterously pick up those bees who, overladen or 
tired, missed the doorstep and fell to the ground. 
He lost, by some accident, one eye, and it was ob- 
served by several members of the family, as well as 
myself, that he had with it lost his ability to pick up 
a bee at the first trial, — his tongue struck the ground 
on one side of the bee; but after several weeks' 
practice with one eye, he regained his old certainty 
of aim. I have never seen our toad use his hands 
to crowd his food into his mouth, as the European 
toads do, although he uses them freely to wipe out 
of his mouth any inedible or disagreeable substance. 
When our toad gets into his mouth part of an in- 
sect too large for his tongue to thrust down his 
throat (and I have known of their attempting a 
wounded humming-bird), he resorts to the nearest 
stone or clod, and presses the protruding part of 
his mouthful against it, and thus crowds it down his 
throat. This can be observed at any time by plac- 
ing a locust's hind-legs together, and throwing it 
before a small toad. On one occasion I gave a 
' yellow-striped ' locust to a little toad in its sec- 
ond summer, when he was in the middle of a very 
wide gravel-walk. In a moment he had the locust's 
head down his throat, its hinder parts protruding. 
He looked around for a stone or clod; but finding 
none at hand in either direction, he bowed his head 
and crept along, pushing the locust against the 
ground. But the angle with the ground was too 
small, and my walk too well rolled. To increase 



ANIMAL LIFE 315 

the angle he straightened his hind legs up, but in 
vain. At length he threw up his hind-quarters and 
actually stood on his head, or rather on the locust 
sticking out of his mouth, and after repeating this 
once or twice, succeeded in ' getting himself outside 
of his dinner.' 

" But these instances of ingenious adaptation to 
the circumstances were exceeded by a four-year-old 
toad at Antioch College. I was tossing him earth- 
worms while digging, and presently threw him so 
large a specimen that he was obliged to attack one 
end only. That end was instantly transferred to 
his stomach, the other end writhing free in air and 
coiled about the toad's head. He waited until its 
writhings gave him a chance, swallowed half an 
inch, then, taking a nip with his jaws, waited for a 
chance to draw in another half inch. But there 
were so many half inches to dispose of that at last 
his jaws grew tired, lost their firmness of grip, and 
the worm crawled out five-eighths of an inch between 
each half-inch swallowing. The toad, perceiving 
this, brought his hind foot to aid his jaws, grasp- 
ing his abdomen with his foot; and by a little effort 
getting hold of the worm in his stomach from the 
outside, he thus by his foot held fast to what he 
gained by each swallow, and presently succeeded 
in getting the worm entirely down. 

" A garter-snake was observed this summer in 
North Conway, pushing a toad down his throat by 
running it against clods and stones just as the toad 
crowds down a locust. 

" The amount which a toad can eat is surprising. 
On Tuesday morning I threw a squash-bug to a 
young toad. He snapped it up, but immediately 



316 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

rejected it, wiped his mouth with great energy, and 
then hopped away with extraordinary rapidity. I 
was so much amused that I gathered some more of 
the squash-bugs and carried them to a favorite old 
toad at the northeast corner of the house. He ate 
them all without making any wry faces. I gathered 
all that I could find in my vines, and he ate them 
all, to the number of twenty-three. I then brought 
him some larvae of pygcera ministra, three-quarters 
grown, and succeeded in enticing him to put ninety- 
four of them on top of his squash-bugs. Finding 
that his virtue was not proof against the caterpillars 
when I put them on the end of a straw and tickled 
his nose with them, he at length turned and crept 
under the piazza, where he remained till Friday 
afternoon, digesting his feast." 

The efforts of the Quebec Department of 
Lands and Forests to stock the Laurentide Na- 
tional Park in the Lake St. John region with 
wapiti have proved an amusing failure, according 
to statements in the Quebec Parliament by the 
Minister of Lands and Forests, who reported 
that eight wapiti were brought last year by the 
Quebec government from Labrador for the pur- 
pose of stocking the park. 

But the journey was a long one by ship and 
rail, and hundreds of curious and kindly disposed 
persons looked at the beautiful animals, who took 
most kindly to the new and wonderfully allur- 
ing foods that their new human acquaintances 
forced upon them. 

When at last the wapiti were turned loose in 



ANIMAL LIFE 317 

the park away up north of the city of Quebec, 
they refused to run away and resume their old 
Labrador ways. 

They just hung round the station agent's 
house and visited all the farmers' and hunters' 
houses and shacks. One pair fought a duel to 
the death over some farmyard delicacy, and the 
others cling to the outskirts of civilization and 
are tamer than the cows and sheep, — so tame 
that the hunters do not consider it good form to 
hunt them, but " shoo " them away when they try 
to steal the camp supplies. 

Writing of the souls of brutes, Krahmer ex- 
presses his firm conviction in the following 
words : " The intelligence of an animal mani- 
fests itself in the same manner as that of a 
man. No essential difference, but only one in 
degree, can be proved to exist between instinct 
and reason." Burmeister adds : " Centuries be- 
fore the thoughtful writers who have written upon 
this subject lived, a hero refused to ascend to 
heaven without his dog; he spurned the car of 
Indra, exclaiming, * Companion of my life, 
heaven would not be heaven without thee ! ' " 

The doctrine of the transmigration of souls 
early taught the Oriental mind to contemplate in 
a religious spirit the mystery of animal life. It 
was the belief of ancient Egyptians that the hu- 
man soul, upon dissolution of the body, entered 
into some one of the lower animal forms, and, 
having passed in rotation through various ter- 
restrial, aquatic, and aerial beings, again entered 



318 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

the body of a man (Herodotus, book 2, chapter 
123). The Hindu believed that the slayer of a 
Brahman was reborn, according to the degree of 
his guilt, as a dog, a boar, an ass, a camel, a 
bull, a goat, a sheep, a stag, a bird, a chandala, or 
a pukkasa. The Brahman who drinks spirit- 
uous liquor must migrate into the body of a 
worm, an insect, a grasshopper, a fly that feeds 
on ordure, or some mischievous animal. One who 
has suffered birth twice and then plunders a 
Brahman of his gold, will pass a thousand times 
into the bodies of spiders, snakes, or murderous 
demons. The man who violates the bed of his 
gurn will a hundred times migrate into grasses, 
shrubs, and creeping plants. They who injure 
men become flesh-eaters. They who embrace 
women of the lowest castes become ghosts. 8 
Contemplating the fearful consequences of an 
evil life in the countless and loathsome migra- 
tions that follow it, a poet thus warns his read- 
ers: 

" Shun thou the evil thing, 
Since life is on the wing; 
Thousands of births attend 
E'er thou shalt know the end. 

" Yonder a worm doth lie, 
A song-bird seeks the sky; 
Betwixt them birth on birth 
With anguish fill the earth. 

s See "The River of Oblivion," being the last paper in 
this book. 



ANIMAL LIFE 319 

"Love thou the wise and good; 

Let evil be withstood; 

So shall Nirvana thee 

Make henceforth wholly free." 

Another Eastern poet voices the same 
thought : 

" Through many different births 

I have run, vainly seeking 

The architect of the desire-resembling house. 

Painful are repeated births. 

house-builder! I have seen thee. 

Again a house thou canst not build for me. 

1 have broken thy rafters and ridge-pole; 

I have arrived at the extinction of evil desire; 
My mind is gone to Nirvana." 

An old legend tells us that Solomon knew the 
languages of all the animals, and could talk with 
beasts and birds. A rabbinical story is told of 
the wise king. As he rode one day out of 
Jerusalem with a great retinue, an ant-hill lay 
directly in his way. Solomon heard its little 
people talking. " Here comes the great king," 
said they ; " but he is not so great as men think. 
His flatterers call him wise and just and merci- 
ful, but he is about to ride over our hill, and he 
will crush us without giving heed to our suffer- 
ings." 

Solomon told the Queen of Sheba, who rode 
with him, what the ants had said of him and also 
of her. The queen remarked, " The ants are in- 
solent creatures. They would have a better fate 



320 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

than they deserve did we but tread them and 
their hill under our feet." 

But Solomon said, " It is the part of wisdom 
to learn of the lowest and weakest of all God's 
creatures." Then the king commanded his train 
to turn aside and spare the ant-hill. All the 
courtiers marveled greatly, and the Queen of 
Sheba bowed her hand and made obeisance to 
Solomon, and said, " Now know I the secret of 
thy wisdom. Thou listenest as patiently to the 
reproaches of the humblest as to the greatest 
of men and animals." 

The doves of Venice are a very beautiful fea- 
ture in the life of the far-famed city of the sea. 
They haunt the statues, the eaves of the great 
buildings, and the marble columns that line the 
piazza of St. Mark's. Whoever has the courage 
to go into the central square of Venice having 
with him a package that suggests corn, will find 
himself in a moment or two covered from head 
to foot by the doves of St. Mark's. The crea- 
tures were once protected by the city govern- 
ment, but long ago the protection ceased, and 
now the birds are protected and cared for by pri- 
vate benevolence. 

Kwannon is a goddess of mercy, and no man 
may worship her unless first some favor has been 
shown her consecrated white ponies. Her ponies 
are the most beautiful in all the world, and to 
deny their beauty is a grievous sacrilege. They 
have their stable close to her temple, and both 
stable and temple are so like, the one to the 



ANIMAL LIFE 321 

other, that passers-by not infrequently take the 
stable for the temple and the temple for the 
stable. It is an act of worship to feed the 
sacred animals. For some distance before their 
stable is reached vendors of beans and peas may 
be seen. From them passers-by purchase the 
kind of food the holy white ponies like best. 
When men approach the animals they drop upon 
their knees, and the beans and peas are presented 
with great reverence and many genuflections. 
The worshippers write, or buy already written, 
prayers, and after chewing the paper upon which 
the prayers are written, they make the pulp into 
a little ball which they throw at the goddess. 
If the prayer-pulp sticks, the supplication will 
be answered as the petitioner wishes; if it falls 
off, then it must be offered over again. Every 
time a prayer is thrown, a bit of coin is placed 
in a box at the foot of the goddess. To kill 
one of the holy white ponies would be an act of 
the greatest wickedness. The creatures are sup- 
ported in luxury while many of their worshippers 
die in poverty and neglect. 

The sacred elephants in India are also main- 
tained in luxury. When we hear of a desolating 
famine in that country, we may be sure that 
those huge beasts do not suffer in the least from 
want of food. Men and women may perish by 
the thousand, but the holy elephants have all 
they want and very much more than they can 
consume. Thus it is that superstition lifts 
brutes above the deluded people who worship 



322 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

them. There are holy pigeons, cats, horses, and 
even pigs. These all live as the Roman Em- 
peror's horse lived long centuries ago. It is a 
pitiful thing to see little children crying for 
bread while a stupid hog revels in more food 
than it can by any possibility devour. Pagan 
religions are cruel. Only when our Saviour 
comes to reign in human hearts and lives will this 
world see an end of hard-hearted superstition. 

The old Roman world was cruel to animals. 
The men of those early days took pleasure in 
the wanton destruction of living creatures. 
Four hundred bears were killed in the Roman 
amphitheater in a single day during the reign 
of Caligula. Three hundred animals came to 
their death at one time under Claudius. Four 
hundred tigers fought with bulls and elephants 
under Nero. When the Colosseum was dedi- 
cated, five thousand animals of various kinds 
were destroyed. Trajan carried cruel amuse- 
ments to the greatest degree of atrocity. He 
had lions, elephants, hippopotami, bulls, tigers, 
rhinoceri, giraffes, stags, and even serpents and 
crocodiles, slaughtered by thousands, with every 
conceivable refinement of cruelty. 

Vivisection is the modern brutality that in 
some measure takes the place of the shameful 
amusements of ancient Rome. Bear-gardens 
were the delight of medieval Europe. Later 
came the bull-ring. Even now we have the cock- 
fight and a few other low and disgraceful enter- 
tainments. 



ANIMAL LIFE 323 

If you would read an interesting book about 
the animals that infest the fields and forests of 
America, you can, I think, find no better work 
than one called " Wild Neighbors," written by 
my friend, Mr. Ernest Ingersoll. I have known 
wild neighbors of my own species that I did not 
greatly care for, — that I, in fact, positively dis- 
liked. Wild animals are better company than 
wild men. Mr. Ingersoll writes very entertain- 
ingly of the former. He really helps you to see 
some redeeming qualities in the skunk, and he 
even inclines you to excuse in a measure its 
peculiar way of defending itself. He seems to 
recommend the creature as a domestic pet. I am, 
however, somewhat lacking in faith, — and it may 
be in courage as well. I am by no means sure 
that I should not greatly prefer the puma or 
even the shark as a pet. From my earliest days 
I have viewed the proprietor of the scent-bags 
with aversion. Yet if any book could change 
my point of view in the matter of the skunk, I 
think that book would prove to be Mr. Inger- 
soll's " Wild Neighbors." I will not say that 
Ernest Seton Thompson's " Wild Animals I Have 
Known " is more interesting than Mr. Ingersoll's 
book. Perhaps Mr. Thompson's book would 
please ordinary persons better, but certain it is 
that Mr. Ingersoll's is more instructive, and its 
style and method of presentation are very agree- 
able. 

Thoreau's books are full of nature, and na- 
ture seen through his eyes has added charm. 



324 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

John Burroughs is both a popular and an in- 
structive writer. His books are delightful read- 
ing and his facts are generally reliable, but he 
treats his theme from a literary point of view, 
often diverting the reader's attention from the 
facts to the way in which they are handled. If 
a scrap-book of natural history giving special 
thought to exceptional and out-of-the-way oc- 
currences is wanted, Buckland's books will prove 
an invaluable treasure. His works are now out 
of print and, being rare, command a large price. 
We must make ourselves acquainted with the 
scientific works of original investigators if we 
would be ourselves scientific men, but of such 
works I have not thought it worth while to treat 
in a popular paper like this. 



X 

THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 

Let no one say, " I will not drink of this water." 

— Cervantes. 

Duller should'st thou be than the fat weed 
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf. 

— Shakespeare. 

Out, out, brief candle! 

— Shakespeare. 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 

I. Acheron, the River of Woe. 

II. Pyriphi^egethon, the River of Eire. 

III. Cocytus, the River of Wailing. 

IV. Styx, the river in Hades over which the 
dead are ferried by the boatman, Charon. 

V. Lethe, the River of Oblivion. 

THE above are the five great rivers of the un- 
derworld. The last may be, by certain per- 
sons, under certain circumstances, and at certain 
times, desired, but the other four are to be 
dreaded and avoided. 

Acheron was a geographical river which the 
Greeks believed to be at the end of the earth. 
Early imagination pushed it farther away as the 
end of the earth receded, and thus was its ever- 
widening stream at last transferred to the lower 
world itself. The river was one of great length, 
because the sorrows of mankind have no end. 
Its depth was great, because the sea of human 
anguish into which it flows has no bottom. Its 
impetuous current broke through all barriers, be- 
cause there is nothing that may successfully re- 
sist the distresses which assail the human heart. 
It leaped over vast walls of stone in cascades of 
silent foam, and was blown about the earth in a 
spray of tears. 

Pyriphlegethon was a stream of fire. Its light 
illuminated the gloom of the lonely world through 
327 



328 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

which it was wont to flow. The shadows that 
proceeded from the overpowering and piercing 
brightness moved as if living. They seemed 
about to speak, but in another moment the dark- 
ness would fall over them and cause them to dis- 
appear. Light and gloom pursued each other 
in a never-ending round of meaningless move- 
ments, — a dance of shadows. 

Cocytus lapped its shores with monotonous 
and wearisome vibrations, sending out a wailing 
cry of distress, above which rose the lamentations 
of the dead. 

Styx was the river over which the dead were 
ferried by Charon on their way to the land of 
woe. It was the principal stream of the nether 
world. From that world it flowed forth into 
nothingness. It was connected with the Cocy- 
tus, and so it came to pass that the dead often 
heard the lamentations of that river long before 
they came to its shores. Cocytus was, in fact, 
a branch of the Styx. iEneas and the Sibyl, 
in their journey through Hades, came to the 
River Styx; but when they approached the boat 
Charon objected to conveying them. He said 
that iEneas was not dead, and that therefore he 
had no right to cross the river. He said further 
that iEneas, being still alive, might offer the dead 
violence, especially as he was armed. He in- 
sisted that the boat was not adapted to living 
men, but only to the light freight of bodiless 
spirits. It was strong enough to carry ghosts, 
but not strong enough to sustain human bodies. 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 329 

The Sibyl with great tact assured the ancient 
ferryman that ^Eneas would do no harm, that he 
would not sink Charon's fragile craft, or assault 
the unarmed ghosts. Finally the golden bough 
was exhibited to the old ferryman, and at sight 
of it all objections were withdrawn. Charon at 
once conveyed the living hero across the Styx 
to the land of the dead. 

Far more to be dreaded, I think, was the dog 
Cerberus with his three heads, all of which 
barked at the same time. No dog was more 
ferocious than Cerberus, and but for the nar- 
cotic cake the Sibyl threw the creature, I doubt 
not that iEneas would have straightway become 
a ghost. 

The region through which the Styx poured 
was desolate beyond description. Upon its 
shores all life became extinct. Mountains rose 
above the tide in fearful grandeur. The tor- 
rent tumbled over a fearful precipice more than 
two hundred feet in height, and, rushing through 
a gorge, became so dark that it was called 
Mauronero, or Black Water. Of all the rivers 
of the underworld there was none greater, un- 
less perhaps it might be Lethe. By it the gods 
took their most solemn oaths. It was the wish of 
Cleomenes that he might lead the Arcadian chiefs 
to this river when, five hundred years before 
Christ, he sought to make with them a league. 

iEneas entered the infernal regions just be- 
yond the mysterious Lake Avernus, where even 
now one may see the cave of the Sibyl. The 



330 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

ground shook and emitted sulphurous flames and 
pent-up vapors ; but one knows now that all the 
wild phenomena were due to the proximity of 
Vesuvius and Etna. 

Of all the rivers of the infernal world, Lethe 
was the greatest. To that river ^Eneas came. 
Before him stretched a spacious valley, and on 
the shores of the stream a shady grove brought 
sweet refreshment. Along the banks grew count- 
less flowers, and wandered a great multitude of 
butterflies. They floated in the enchanted air 
upon iridescent wings of light and gauze. 
iEneas inquired what all the gay creatures were, 
and why they resorted day and night to the 
shores of Lethe. 

" These," Anchises answered, " are souls yet 
to receive bodies. Meanwhile on the banks of 
Lethe they flutter and wait. They drink from 
the river of oblivion and lose remembrance of 
their former lives." 

" But," continued iEneas, " can it be that any 
one would willingly leave this paradise of beauty, 
refreshment, and delicious forgetfulness? " 

Anchises replied, " The Creator made the soul 
of man from the four elements, — fire, air, earth, 
and water. In some earth predominates, and 
these are of the rude, uncultivated, tempestuous, 
and churlish kind. They must wait a long time 
for bodies. Other souls receive bodies of a com- 
monplace sort. These love money, pleasure, and 
such things as interest the men and women of 
everyday life. A few who are yet to be ad- 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 331 

mitted to Elysium will have wholly new bodies. 
These are sons and daughters of light ; beautiful 
themselves, they are the creators and lovers of 
beauty; among them are the poets, musicians, 
and philosophers. Out of the four elements all 
souls are constructed." 

" And the high gods took in hand 

Fire, and the falling of tears, 

And a measure of sliding sand 

From under the feet of the years; 

And froth and drift of the sea, 

And dust of the laboring earth, 

And bodies of things to be 

In the houses of death and of birth, 

And wrought with weeping and laughter, 

And fashioned with loathing and love, 

With life before and after, 

And death beneath and above, 

For a day and night and a morrow, 

That his strength might endure for a span, 

With travail and heavy sorrow, 

The holy spirit of man. 

" From the winds of the north and south 

They gathered as unto strife; 

They breathed upon his mouth; 

They filled his body with life; 

Eyesight and speech they wrought 

For the veils of the soul therein; 

A time for labor and thought, 

A time to serve and to sin. 

They gave him light in his ways, 

And love, and space for delight, 



332 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

And beauty and length of days, 
And night, and sleep in the night. 

" His speech is a burning fire; 

With his lips he travaileth; 

In his heart is a blind desire; 

In his eyes foreknowledge of death; 

He weaves and is clothed with derision; 

Sows, and shall not reap; 

His life is a watch or a vision 

Between a sleep and a sleep." 

Thus have men believed with regard to the 
making of the human being himself. If from 
the seed of the inferior gods the four elements 
become fertilized, the man must become a rude 
and vulgar creature. If the fertilization be 
from the loins of the high gods, then shall man's 
breath be as that of the flowers, and his speech 
shall be as the " noise of a hidden brook," tender 
with love and strong with all noble and gracious 
qualities. 

It came to pass that the Sibyl, observing the 
shadows, said to iEneas, " It is now time that we 
leave the banks of the stream, and return to the 
world of living men." 

Lethe was the great " River of Oblivion." In 
early days and among those who believed that it 
had an existence as actual as that of any stream 
in the world we now inhabit, its waters were 
thought to make men forget themselves. The 
Lethe that flows to-day around the life of man 
is not self-forgetfulness, but the great deep into 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 333 

which we sink when all we have said, sung, or 
done disappears, — it may be forever, — from the 
remembrance of mankind. In this respect the 
overwhelming and all-devouring oblivion of the 
fathomless ocean may more closely resemble 
man's approaching fate than do the shallows of 
any river on earth or in Hades. 

Below the tides of the Atlantic, upon vast 
floors of sand and coral, lie treasures of every 
kind. There rot side by side little fishing smacks 
and the great Titanic. There are scattered the 
munitions of war and beautiful books of rare 
learning. There are spread out gems and jewels 
that shine not for want of light. There cor- 
rupt the bones of men. A common fate was in 
store for all. A much deeper ocean than that of 
the Atlantic rolls above them, — the ocean of 
rayless, hopeless oblivion. We may be willing 
to forget ourselves. In every man's life there 
are surely some things it would be good to for- 
get. Forgetfulness of that kind is sometimes the 
precursor or forerunner of better things. But 
to be forgotten by others, and so to have all the 
genius and toil of a lifetime wiped out as one 
erases with a wet sponge a mark from a slate, — 
that is a very different matter, and yet that is 
the sort of Lethe against which we instinctively 
contend. We contend sometimes in very fool- 
ish ways, and at other times in ways that are 
only occasionally successful. We know now 
that the water of river and sea has little to do 
with the impending fate we dread. 



334 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

For increasing numbers of men the Lethean 
tides are stimulants and narcotics. It is not 
strange that so many men use alcohol; on the 
contrary, I am surprised that still larger num- 
bers do not resort to it. No one who has any 
knowledge of life will deny that the troubles, dis- 
tresses, and tragedies of the world are many and 
grievous. All these we would be glad to forget 
when we may not escape them, and alcohol is to 
thousands upon thousands of our race an open 
door into a heaven of rest, blessedness, and glory. 
No doubt the use of alcohol has increased the 
misery of the world; but it is, nevertheless, an 
immediate though temporary escape that most 
men desire, and in stimulants they find what they 
want. Alcohol used in moderation is not a curse 
to all who invoke its aid. There are man}' excep- 
tions to what may be a general rule, and each 
man, as his turn comes, flatters himself that he is 
among the exceptions. The increasing number of 
suicides we attribute to the use of alcohol, but it 
should be charged to the abuse of that drug, if 
drug it may be called. It is also true that al- 
cohol has not infrequently prevented self-de- 
struction. It is a fact that in most cases the 
misdemeanors of those who use stimulants are 
indiscriminately charged to intemperance; and 
yet the crime of an intemperate man may have 
really nothing to do with his intemperance; and 
also it is true that many temperate men are crim- 
inals. There are crimes that a drinking man 
could not commit. Most political misdemeanors 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 335 

are the work of clear-headed, sober men. Deeds 
of violence are largely due to the abuse of alco- 
hol, and quite as often to the rage of lust or the 
fury of anger. 

Opium may also be described as the Lethe of 
our modern world. Its inward sense of untrou- 
bled peace the Chinese call " a flame which burns 
far from the wind." " No fancy," says a writer, 
" is so bold, no pencil so accomplished, as to be 
able to depict the visions which rise out of the 
chaos of an opium-eater's brain and which dis- 
play themselves to his closed eyes. Alcohol 
draws men together. Its votaries must have 
companions to laugh with, to drink with, to talk 
with. The victim of opium goes his way alone, 
for the reason that no other human being can 
accompany him. No other eye can see what he 
sees, no other heart can know what he enjoys and 
suffers." Again the same author writes: 

" The moral effect of opium is the erection of a 
veil between its victim and the world. At first this 
veil is of such diaphanous texture as to be scarcely 
perceptible. A man dimly feels that his relations 
with the world have undergone a change for the 
better, as he thinks, since now he has a refuge from 
every ill of life. Only when he attempts to rend 
this slight tissue of illusions does he discover that 
it is composed of finest steel. His inner life may 
be a heaven or it may be a hell; the fact remains 
that he cannot escape from it. 1 The veil between 

i Not quite true at present. The Combs Chemical Com- 
pany, Chicago, Illinois, now prepares regular hyos-sco- 



336 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

him and the world thickens. He looks out on life 
as one sees a light through an alabaster vase." 

The old Lethe meant our forgetfulness of our- 
selves, but the Lethe of to-day means our drop 
from the remembrance of others. The tragedy 
of it all is this, that in the latter river our hopes, 
desires, and ambitions are drowned. We see 
them perish, and our every effort to save them 
comes to pitiable failure. There can be no 
doubt that the impelling motive behind a very 
large part of modern literature is the desire of 
authors to live in and through their books when 
they themselves are no longer upon earth. 
Whether an author will in the other world care 
in the least that his books continue to sell and 
his fame to hold out against the destructive 
energy of time is another question. He does 
care now, and that is to him the immediate and 
important matter. A little book of poems was 
published in this country about fifty years ago 
by a man who was then a youth, but who has 
since that time given the world a number of 
books. In the volume referred to was a poem 
called " Ambition's Prayer." It was not much 
of a poem, if, indeed, it was worthy of being 
called a poem in any sense of the word, but it 
gave expression to the hunger for remembrance 

phine tablets to be used in the gradual reduction of the 
amount of the drug taken, and in the final elimination 
of the habit. The treatment is attended with little or no 
pain and is successful in a large number of cases. 



I 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 337 

with utmost frankness. Very few verses have the 
naked audacity of that composition of fifty years 
ago. The poet sings: 

" O God, that I might be 
When I have ceased to be ! 
O God, that I might live 
When I have ceased to live ! " 

This deep longing for the impossible is a most 
pathetic thing, and yet it may be that in that 
very longing we might see, if we only would, a 
forecast of personal immortality. But one way 
or the other it would be a good thing if only we 
could substitute for " Ambition's Prayer," which 
seems to us so very poor, the familiar lines be- 
ginning with " O may I join the choir invisible " ; 
and yet I doubt not that George Eliot found sat- 
isfaction in anticipation of the regard she well 
knew would be her reward. I once asked a man 
where he was born, and was surprised at his 
answer. He said, " I was born in an iron cage, 
against the bars of which I have well-nigh beaten 
out my life." I could hear after each sad word 
the low moan of the River of Oblivion. 

An artist once said to me, " I know my pic- 
tures are good, and yet I am compelled to stand 
aside and see them neglected or sacrificed while 
inferior paintings are appreciated and their mak- 
ers rewarded. I have, however, this advantage: 
I am not dependent upon my art for a living. 
Yet I have ambition, and I naturally desire rec- 
ognition. As a man of genius I would be known 



338 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

and remembered. I wish to live in and for art." 
I answered my friend in somewhat the follow- 
ing fashion : " I do not doubt your genius, nor 
do I deny that men of inferior ability win where 
you fail. You cannot prevent that. And after 
all, can you not allow them the brief satisfaction 
of harmlessly deceiving themselves and others? 
In the end, for them and for well-nigh all of us, 
the waters of Lethe will be cold and deep. If the 
' art-loving public ' prefer tea-chest chromos to 
your paintings, nothing that you can say or do 
will change matters. You have the satisfaction, 
if it be any satisfaction, of knowing that your 
pictures are of value while those that win the 
recognition of the crowd can never hold a place 
of permanent importance. The producers of 
poor work may, and doubtless will, establish or- 
ganizations for self-recognition ; they will vote 
themselves medals. But what will it all come to? 
Why should any one grudge the butterflies that 
float their little hour above the shores of Lethe 
the brief triumph they so enjoy? You are 
financially independent of your art. Why 
should you not be morally independent of the 
poor success of inferior workmen? If you want 
a medal, employ a good artificer to make you one. 
You can vote yourself any amount of bric-a-brac, 
and in the end it will matter nothing to you or 
to any one else whether you had an assortment 
of t articles of vertu ' or died without such an 
assortment. I should say that the right thing 
for you to do is to go on producing the very 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 339 

best work you are able to produce. Live in your 
work, and take delight in it. Help some other 
good painter who shares your want of apprecia- 
tion but not your financial means. Save him 
from humiliation." 

A very amusing thing happened in one of our 
American cities some years ago. An eccentric 
clergyman, having looked to colleges a long time 
for recognition, helped himself to the degree of 
doctor in divinity. He was asked from what in- 
stitution of learning he had received the degree. 
He said, " No college gave it to me. I gave it to 
myself." Some one said to him, " Do you not 
think that a dishonest act?" "No," said he, 
" I told no lie about it. I stole no degree from 
any man, nor did I steal it from a college. In 
my opinion I deserve the degree. I have added 
D.D. to my name, and confiscated two slivers of 
the English alphabet, but there are letters enough 
left for all the rest of the world." A president of 
one of the colleges said to him, " But you cannot 
confer a degree upon yourself." " That," said 
he, " is nonsense, for I have already conferred it 
upon myself." 

To my mind the sad thing about that sort of 
pleasantry (for it was nothing but jesting, view 
it as we may) is the fact that a man of ability, 
for he was one, was disturbed by lack of appre- 
ciation. It seems to me that a minister of the 
gospel should be above troubling himself with 
such matters. Henry Ward Beecher declined 
a doctor's degree. " Well," some one remarks, 



340 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

" Beecher was a man of supreme ability." I think 
every man of worth to his race should be greater 
than any degree that may be conferred. Why 
should a clergyman who honors himself covet a 
degree, and why should he or any one else take 
the trouble to decline it? Let the man of genius 
do his work in the joy and confidence of that 
work. Let the minister of the gospel look higher 
for his reward. 

Academus was the original owner of a garden 
or grove in the suburbs of Athens. The garden 
afterwards came into the possession of the pub- 
lic through a bequest of Cimon, and later still it 
was known as the favorite resort of the lovers 
of philosophy. Even in those early days the 
seat of learning was identified with commercial 
interests. The garden was a piece of real estate, 
and had an owner, very much as the laboratories 
and libraries of Oxford and Harvard have owners 
to-day. The bequest of Cimon and the gifts 
of Carnegie and others were and are points of 
contact between dollars and letters. The Acad- 
emy in Athens and that in Paris come to the same 
thing. In both there were men who received 
what they did not deserve, and those as well who 
deserved more than they obtained. There were 
those in the time of Cimon who practically honored 
themselves, forgetting the sacred admonition, 
" Let another praise thee and not thyself." Per- 
haps I should not say that they forgot the ad- 
monition, for, living at so early a period, they 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 341 

may have had no opportunity of knowing any- 
thing about it. They wished to be regarded as 
philosophers, as men now desire to be known as 
poets, historians, novelists, and scholars. Their 
desire, in those bygone times, was to escape the 
River of Oblivion ; but only a few succeeded. 

To-day the same desire prevails, and the same 
result must follow. On the grave of Keats in 
the old Protestant Cemetery at Rome is the in- 
scription : " This grave contains all that was 
mortal of a young English poet, who, on his 
death-bed, in the bitterness of his heart at the 
malicious power of his enemies, desired these 
words to be engraved on his tombstone : s Here 
lies one whose name was writ in water.' " His 
name was not writ in water, but he thought it 
was. Most of us write our names in sand and 
wave, but why should there be such bitterness 
of heart because our fate is as that of most of our 
companions? Life is spoiled by our foolish van- 
ity. A fictitious value is given to an iridescent 
bubble. We are belittled by our self-thought, 
self-seeking, and self-pity. Dr. Holmes wrote : — 

" Many an eye has danced to see 
That banner in the sky." 

One sometimes wonders how many professors 
there may be in Harvard, Columbia, Princeton, 
and other seats of learning who would not dance 
to see their portraits in the New York " Herald " 
or " Times." There will never be any regular 



342 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

line of steam packets on the River Lethe, for no 
one will ever pay a farthing for a trip to Ob- 
livion. 

But to return to the consideration of our mod- 
ern Lethe, — alcohol and opium. From most an- 
cient times men have used stimulants and nar- 
cotics. They will continue to use them in the 
face of whatever restrictions may surround them 
and whatever legal enactments may be adopted. 
A glance at the world's consumption of intoxi- 
cants will, I think, give force to our state- 
ment: 

Coffee berries are taken, in the form of an in- 
fusion, by two millions of the world's inhab- 
itants. 

Paraguay tea is taken by ten millions. 

Coca by as many. 

Chicory, either pure or mixed with coffee, by 
forty millions. 

Cacao, either as chocolate or in some other 
form, by fifty millions. 

Hashish is eaten and smoked by three hun- 
dred millions. 

Opium by four hundred millions. 

Chinese tea is taken by five hundred millions. 

Finally, all the known nations of the world 
are addicted to the use of tobacco. 

The matter stands thus: Every year 3,000,- 
000,000 pounds of tea, 220,000,000 pounds of 
coffee and cocoa, 25,000,000 pounds of opium, 
200,000,000 pounds of hashish, and 865,000,- 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 343 

000 pounds of tobacco are consumed. Now add 
the quantity of arsenic and alcoholic liquors 
used, and the figures open into a wilderness. 
Strychnine has been pressed into service, and is 
used in very large doses. The Polynesians in- 
toxicate themselves with a liquor prepared from 
pepper (Piperinebrians vel ineihysticum) . The 
Kamchatkans use the Agaricus muscariiu; and 
many eastern nations chew betel-nut. China is 
now greatly reducing the amount of opium used 
by its inhabitants, and without doubt the new 
Harrison anti-narcotic law, which went into ef- 
fect in the United States March 1, 1915, will 
for a time lessen the amount of opium and other 
narcotic drugs consumed by Americans. In 
both countries, however, there will be great dan- 
ger of an increased consumption of alcohol in 
every form. 

Much has been written of late upon the opium- 
addiction of physicians and nurses. Why the 
apothecary is not in even greater danger of form- 
ing the habit I cannot understand. Opium 
and many other drugs, as cocaine and hashish, 
are always at his command. He has but to step 
into the little room in the rear of his shop where 
the deadly poisons are kept, to find whatever his 
soul craves. Dr. Crothers, in his " Morphinism 
and Narcomania from Other Drugs," says: 
" Some recent statistics indicate that the medical 
profession furnishes a large proportion of cases. 
In France and Germany, among the morphine 
cases known, the physicians are most prominent. 



344 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

In a study of 3244 physicians in the United 
States, ten per cent were estimated as either 
secret or open users of the drug." Statistics 
like these certainly present a very distressing 
picture for the consideration of the thousands 
of invalids who must trust some physician, in 
the hope, at least, that he may be a temperate 
and conscientious practitioner. 

Dr. Lambert, in a paper on " The Intoxication 
Impulse," said: 

" There is no question but that the reasons for 
excessive drinking in youth are different from those 
of the later twenties and early thirties, and still 
different from those of the forties and later life. 
In early manhood excessive drinking is an attempt 
to celebrate the joy of life . . . while the man who 
has reached middle life or passed it seeks intoxica- 
tion or the narcotic effect of alcohol. He delib- 
erately drinks, not because he is with his friends, 
but because he wishes to forget himself, his friends, 
and existence itself. The vast majority that drink, 
however, be their age what it may, drink for the 
narcotic effect. They wish to obliterate something 
which they do not like to face or cannot face in 
consciousness. 

" Women in only a small number of cases drink 
to excess; the vast majority of those who drink 
drink to obliterate something they do not like 
to face in consciousness. Often, moreover, after 
struggling against a desire to drink and bring on 
forgetfulness, they will, in their desperation and 
weariness, drink that they may forget the struggle 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 345 

and cease to remember both the dreaded memory 
and their struggle to forget it. 

" There is a large class of men whose individ- 
ual problems drive them to narcotic forget fulness. 
They are persons of sensitive natures; men who 
from their early youth have harbored feelings that 
have been hurt by being misunderstood, have been 
hurt by feeling that in some way they were not the 
same as their average boyish companions, and 
therefore inferior." 

Cocaine and heroin are able to give for the 
time self-confidence as well as oblivion. In the 
early days the Peruvian Indians used cocaine. 
They chewed the leaves of the plant which con- 
tains the drug. It greatly increased their power 
of endurance, and enabled them to go upon the 
war-path many hours without sleep or rest. 
Here we have after every line the sound of the 
waves of the River of Oblivion. Men desire to 
escape from themselves, from their past, from 
their present, and from their anticipation of the 
future. St. Augustine said long centuries ago: 
" Men are restless, and never can they find rest 
until they find it in God." There alone is peace, 
calmness and repose. Men would forget for a 
time defeat, failure, and inferiority. They would 
forget the success of others and the want of ap- 
preciation under which they themselves have 
writhed. I confess I do not understand the feel- 
ing here presented. It is a great thing to live 
in one's art, and in it to live one's own life. 



346 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

Why may we not trust our own estimate of our 
own worth? 

Men and women of artistic and literary life, — 
musicians, artists, authors, actors, and some- 
times statesmen, — seem to feel a special need 
for one kind of stimulant or another. In cer- 
tain cases an agent having an opposite effect 
is demanded, and the overtaxed brain finds tem- 
porary relief in a drug having a sedative influ- 
ence and capable of allaying nervous irritation. 
This may be seen by running the eye over the 
following list of persons given to the use of al- 
cohol: David Hume, Thomas Moore, Robert 
Burns, Edgar A. Poe, Joseph Addison, Richard 
Chenevix Trench, Thomas Hood, Leo X, Tur- 
lough O'Carolan, Thomas Paine, Daniel Webster, 
Peter Paul Rubens, Benjamin Disraeli, William 
E. Gladstone, Benjamin Charles Incledon, Ed- 
mund Kean, and Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. 
Some of these used alcohol to excess and were in- 
jured thereby. Could they have used it to the 
degree called for by the special demands of their 
mental and physical systems, they might have 
been helped ; but it seems to be given to compara- 
tively few to employ stimulants with anything 
like moderation. It is, therefore, as a rule better 
that most men should find their help in other di- 
rections. Still, not all in the foregoing list mis- 
used drink. Some, and the list might have been 
greatly enlarged, used wine and other intoxicants 
without harm to themselves. I am not so sure 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 347 

that their example was harmless to others, but of 
that I may not judge. 

The following persons resorted to tobacco: 
Walter Raleigh, Alfred Tennyson, John Keats, 
Thomas Carlyle, Leo XIII, Napoleon I, Isaac 
Newton, and Robert Louis Stevenson. These 
are, of course, but a few of the many distin- 
guished men who believed themselves benefited by 
the use of tobacco. Fewer persons have been 
hurt by the weed than by alcohol and drugs, but 
then it must be remembered that there is in to- 
bacco very much less of that oblivion for which 
men seek than can be extracted from compara- 
tively small amounts of alcohol or opium. 

Here are the names of six men who were habit- 
ual users of opium; it will be seen at a glance 
that they were, all of them, men of a peculiar 
tast of mind: Thomas De Quincey, Samuel 
Taylor Coleridge, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, John 
Philip Kemble, John Randolph, and Robert Hall. 
With the single exception of Randolph, the 
above-named men were all gifted with a vivid and 
powerful imagination. Three of them were 
authors. Hall, though a distinguished clergy- 
man, was a man of remarkable literary finish. 
Read his miscellaneous works and Foster's 
" Essay on the Character of Dr. Robert Hall " 
if you are not already acquainted with his beau- 
tiful English, which always charms the reader. 
All six of the men named were men of great in- 
tensity. William Wilberforce was a confirmed 



348 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

user of opium, but he was in most of his charac- 
teristics unlike the others here grouped. Alex- 
ander Pope found his intellectual help and 
strength in strong coffee. Alexander Wedder- 
burn was in the habit of applying blisters to his 
person. 

The hunger for immortality is by no means 
universal. There are in this world millions of 
men and women who not only do not want to 
live forever, but who long for that very extinc- 
tion which we so dread whenever the dark thought 
of its possibility clouds the mind. And that 
thought, so unwelcome, against which we contend, 
comes soon or late to well-nigh every thoughtful 
person. In England and America as well as in 
distant India there are those who hope for anni- 
hilation and who look forward to it with expec- 
tancy. I do not see what is to restrain such 
persons (if they are not Brahmans or Bud- 
dhists) from suicide when physical or mental dis- 
tress renders the world for them unattractive. 
Why endure the hopeless pain of a disease like 
cancer if death ends all? The deterrent influ- 
ence that operates upon minds developed under 
the force of Christian teaching is, in most cases 
where self-murder suggests itself, the fear that 
death does not end all. It is this that " makes 
us rather bear those ills we have than fly to 
others that we know not of." Yet of course 
there are those who, maddened by anguish or 
impelled by a firm conviction that death is fol- 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 349 

lowed by annihilation, scruple not to slay them- 
selves. 

Most men can in time bring themselves to be- 
lieve anything. The philosopher who every 
morning and evening said aloud to himself, 
" Post mortem nihil est, ipsaque mors nihil" in 
time came to believe the Latin words, and, hav- 
ing a severe tooth-ache, shot himself. The last 
words of Harriet Martineau, the learned trans- 
lator of the works of Auguste Comte, were : " I 
have had a noble share of life, and I do not ask 
for any other life. I see no reason why the 
existence of Harriet Martineau should be per- 
petuated." She looked forward to the River of 
Oblivion with inward satisfaction. She had had 
all she wanted of this life, and, complacency fill- 
ing her soul, she proceeded to cast aside the 
squeezed orange. It did not occur to her to in- 
quire whether millions of her fellow creatures had 
enjoyed even so much as a teaspoonful of the 
juice from the orange of which she had had her 
fill. One may suck all the juice out of life and 
chew and swallow pulp and rind as well, and be 
made only the more selfish thereby. Professor 
Clifford rejoiced in the belief that death meant 
for all the sorrow, trouble, and sin of this life 
the peace of dreamless and endless slumber. I 
knew well the late Moncure D. Conway, the able 
biographer of Thomas Paine, and I am sure, 
from many conversations held with him at the 
Authors' Club in New York and elsewhere, that 



350 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

death meant to him precisely what it did to Pro- 
fessor Clifford. He had no desire for another 
life. 

Nirvana, stripped of all adventitious surround- 
ings, is nothing but extinction of being. Mr. 
Alger has pointed out, in his " Critical History 
of the Doctrine of Future Life," that seven the- 
ories of the soul's destination are known to theo- 
logical science. They are annihilation, reab- 
sorption, resurrection, conveyance, recurrence, 
migration, and transition. There seem to be or 
to have been advocates of each of these theories. 
Annihilation comes first in the list, and has in 
the East many who hold firmly to it. Strange 
as it may seem to us who dwell under a different 
sky and are trained to cherish a contrary faith, 
the Nirvana of the far East is to Oriental minds 
precisely what a Buddhist writer calls it, " the 
abyss of peace, starless and never-ending rest." 
The weariness of life which overhangs the Orien- 
tal world and creates a dense pessimism that per- 
sists even in the presence of youth, health, and 
wealth, is a thing well-nigh unknown in our 
Christian civilization. And yet in some places 
in our own land it is beginning to appear. I 
fear it will increase as our civilization becomes 
older. World-weariness, life-weariness, and pes- 
simism brood over the sleeping East with its 
ancient and changeless civilization. Doubtless 
the religious uncertainty of the age in which we 
live has something to do with the low estimate of 
life we see around us. With a decadent civili- 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 351 

zation comes an increase of insanity. Without 
Christianity the moral trend of the world is 
downward. In other words, take from us the 
hope of another world, and the world we now 
have degenerates. Doubtless Buddha has been 
a source of comfort to millions of souls, but the 
East that embraced his doctrine is dreaming still, 
and dreaming often most unhol}' dreams. She 
will change only when the living Christ comes 
to dwell within her heart. 

Max Miiller has pointed out, in his " Chips 
from a German Workshop," the fact that a keen 
sense of human misery is the starting point in 
the philosophy of both Brahmanism and Bud- 
dhism. But the solution of the dark mystery of 
evil is not the same in both religious systems. 
The Brahman, admitting that the creation of the 
world, and so of every man in it, was an acci- 
dent to be overcome, holds that the unhappy con- 
sequences of it are to be neutralized through ab- 
sorption of the human soul into the universal 
Spirit, or Brahma. The Buddhist, on the con- 
trary, holding with his neighbor, the Brahman, 
that creation was a sad mistake and that life is 
a calamity, does not see his way out of the diffi- 
culty through absorption into the universal 
Spirit, but holds that Nirvana can be reached 
only after centuries of transmigrating, and that 
Nirvana, when reached, will be found to be not 
absorption, but absolute extinction, of being. 
Nirvana is freedom from birth and death, and 
all that these contain. It is freedom from trans- 



352 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

migration that prolongs man's existence by ex- 
tending it through countless circles of animal 
and even plant life. It is one of the great doc- 
trines of the East that man is punished for an 
evil life by being born over and over again into 
inferior forms of existence. A wicked man may 
after death reappear in the world as a loathsome 
serpent or a despised insect. Man ascends " an 
infinite ladder of redemption," through births 
and deaths without number, until at last, after 
millions of centuries, the wriggling worm is en- 
dowed again with human consciousness, and, 
standing erect beneath the stars, it calls itself a 
man. Now comes the supreme opportunity. If 
as a man he does right, the doors of Nirvana 
open. He enters through those doors and passes 
into nothingness. He is now blown out as a 
flame is extinguished by the evening breeze. His 
weary spirit fades away in darkness and oblivion. 
His transmigrating days and all other days are 
over forever. 

To Eastern philosophy consciousness is a 
thing to be dreaded. Inanimate nature is in 
some ways more to be desired than man's estate, 
which is cursed by perpetual change. Life and 
change are two great evils. Change means, after 
this life, transmigration with its humiliation and 
distress. Life is to be extinguished. But sui- 
cide will not extinguish it, for death only brings 
man into the field of transmigration. The man 
slays himself, and at once he may become a ser- 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 353 

pent, a fish, or a bug, and as such he is no less 
a living creature than when he was a man. Not 
death, but Nirvana, is the ultimate good and the 
great liberator. 

The consequences of our good or evil deeds 
are mystically embodied in what is called our 
Karma. This follows us from life to life, 
through our many transmigrations, and deter- 
mines what these shall be. It lifts us in the di- 
rection of heaven and Nirvana, or pushes us to- 
ward hell and perpetual change. Karma is the 
entire sum of what we have done, whether good 
or bad, and is in a measure under our control. 
The Buddhist's heaven is not a finality. We 
cannot remain in its divine enclosure forever. 
After a time we must depart from its glory and 
begin again the dismal round of transmigration. 
Nothing endures but Nirvana. Extinction of 
being or annihilation is the supreme and only 
real good. To that the Buddhist aspires. All 
his philosophy cries to him: 

"Be worthy of death; and so learn to live 
That every incarnation of thy soul, 
In other realms, and worlds, and firmaments, 
Shall be more pure and high." 

A distinguished Hindoo writer said of Nirvana, 
" It is freedom from all sorrow. It is nothing, 
and yet, nevertheless, it is that for which we all 
strive." To the Buddhist the words of the poet 
are true in every line: 



354 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

" Cessation is true rest, 
And sleep for them opprest; 
And not to be were best. 

" Annihilation is 

A better state than this, 

Better than woe or bliss. 

"The name is dread; the thing 
Is death without its sting, 
An overshadowing." 

The doctrine of transmigration offers few at- 
tractions to the western mind, and yet it is not 
without its brighter side. No doubt it has failed 
of exalting the life of man, but it has certainly 
improved the condition of the lower animals. 
There is little cruelty in India. One does not 
like to maltreat the dog that may be his father, 
nor will he slay the reptile that may be his 
mother. 

" Crush not the feeble, inoffensive worm: 
Thy sister's spirit wears that humble form. 
Why should thy cruel arrow smite yon bird? 
In him thy brother's plaintive song is heard. 
Let not thy anger on thy dog descend; 
That faithful animal was once thy friend." 

Mr. Alger says, in his book before referred to, 
" The etymological force of the word Nirvana 
is extinction." He goes on to say : " When 
the fire is extinguished, the substance of the flame 
continues to exist under other forms ; " and so he 
thinks that after all the word may have con- 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 355 

tained the thought of immortality. I very much 
doubt whether the originators of the doctrine of 
transmigration and of the sister doctrine of 
Nirvana knew anything of the indestructibleness 
of matter. When they saw the flame expire, 
they thought it annihilated. I believe the early 
Buddhists regarded Nirvana as extinction of per- 
sonality. 

The Brahman held to an opinion very different 
from that of the Buddhist. The former believed 
in the existence of a Universal Spirit who created 
all things, and he looked forward to absorption 
into the Divine Person as the highest possible 
good. The latter believe in no God of any kind, 
and they anticipate personal extinction as the 
blessed end of all the transmigrations through 
which the pilgrim-soul must pass. Both hold to 
the doctrine of transmigration, but the Brahman 
regards all his different births as a fixed neces- 
sity, ending at last in oneness with God. In the 
final absorption the Brahman parts from his per- 
sonal and human consciousness, and becomes 
Brahma. He exchanges his human conscious- 
ness for the divine consciousness. He is able to 
say, " I am Brahma." He is of the substance 
of God. 

The feeling is beautifully expressed in a Hin- 
du song which has been thus translated into 
English by a missionary : 

" The snowflake that glistens at noon on Kilasa, 
Dissolved by the sunbeam, descends to the plain; 



356 FIRESIDE PAPERS 

There mingling with Gunga, it flows to the ocean, 
And lost in its waters, returns not again. 

" On the rose-leaf at morning bright glistens the 
dewdrop 
That in vapor exhaled falls in nourishing rain; 
Then in rills back to Gunga through green fields 
meanders, 
Till onward it flows to the ocean again. 

" A snowflake still whitens the peak of Kilasa, 
But the snowflake of yesterday flows to the main; 

At dawning a dewdrop still hangs on the rose-leaf, 
But the dewdrop of yesterday comes not again. 

" The soul that is freed from the bondage of nature 
Escapes from illusions of joy and of pain; 

And pure as the flame that is lost in the sunshine, 
It comes not, — it goes not, — it comes not again." 

Of course absorption into the person of God 
is a doctrine by no means confined to the far 
East. In all lands and ages it has been variously 
expressed, and it is ever at the foundation of 
mysticism in whatever shape. It may be discov- 
ered in Latin and Greek authors, and in early 
and even modern Christian writers. To all the 
soul sometimes appears to be 

" A silver stream 
Breaking with laughter from the lake divine 
Whence all things flow." 

Lethe is not far removed from Nirvana. The 
same necessity and deep desire created both. 



THE RIVER OF OBLIVION 357 

Among the rivers of the underworld no stream 
can compare with the calm and refreshing waters 
of the River of Oblivion, flowing through quiet 
shores fringed with drowsy poppies and the crim- 
son cups of fragrant roses. 

" Music," it has been said, " is sweetest near or 
over rivers, where the echo thereof is best re- 
bounded by the water." The sad, sweet music 
of humanity sounds forever over the River of 
Oblivion. Its echoes float, now tenderly, and 
anon with fierce and rebellious fury, as the case 
may be with the man from whose heart come all 
those feelings, regrets, and desires that lend va- 
riety to the deathless harmony. For those who 
sorrow forgetfulness has its own delight. The 
waters that ripple in " the dancing tide " are cool 
and refreshing. 

From old age we sometimes catch our first 
vision of the river. The harassing and torment- 
ing passions die, one by one. The ache and 
smart of life disappear. We enjoy less, but it is 
true also that we suffer less. In youth and mid- 
life we know the bitterness of a sorrowful heart. 
Care shifts its burden to our shoulders. We 
are burned by the raging fever of love. Age 
soothes our sorrow, lifts the burden, and whis- 
pers to love, " No more." We grow old and for- 
get. And then we are ourselves forgotten. 



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